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TESTIMONIALS. 


THE  FIRST  AND  SECOND  EDITIONS  OF 

VANDENHOFF'S  SYSTEM  OF  ELOCUTION 

having  been  exliausted,  a  Third  Edition  is  now  published,  considera- 
bly enlarged,  under  the  title  of  "  The  Art  of  Elocution,"  The  Pub- 
lisher is  happy  in  presenting,  from  among  many  otJiers,  the  following 
high  testimonials  to  the  merits  of  the  work : 

F^oin  the  Rev.  R.  T.  Huddart,  (^Classical  Academy,  Houston  street.') 

It  affords  me  much  pleasure  to  add  my  testimony  to  the  value,  im- 
portance, and  advantage  of  Mr.  George  VandenhofF's  Work  on  Elocu- 
tion. He  has  aptly  styled  it  "  a  phtia  System  :"  such  it  truly  is  to  those 
who  will  pursue  ilie  instruction  given,  step  by  step:  and  cannot  fail  of 
producing  a  beneficial  and  much  wished  for  result  in  one  of  the  depart- 
ments of  education  so  sadly  neglected — rorred  reading — devoid  of  vul- 
garities, and  errors  in  articulation  and  pronunciation.  1  hope  the  book 
\v\\\  have  a  wide  circulation,  in  order  that  die  good  which  it  is  capable 
of  effecting  may  be  thus  more  extensively  diffused,  and  a  better  system 
of  insti-uciion  be  afforded  to  the  rising  generation,  in  that  which  con- 
stitutes a  most  agreeable  accomplishment  in  eveiy  gentleman's  educa- 
tion, namely,  "  Logical  and  Musical  Declamation." 

(Signed)        R.  Towksend  Huddart. 

New- York,  March  14,  1845. 

From  Mrs.  Lawrenck,  {^Academy,  Stmjvcsant  Place.) 

I  have  great  pleasure  in  stating,  that  Mr.  G.  Vandenhoff 's  Work  on 
Elocution  has  been  used  with  so  much  success  in  my  school,  that  I  can 
safely  recommend  it  to  all,  who  may  desire  improvement  in  that  elegant 
branch  of  education  ;  as  the  most  simplf,  detir,  ami  concis''  treatise  an  the 
sv/jject;  and  wdl  aiUipied  to  the  comprehension  of  any  mind. 

(Signed)  Julia  Lawrence 

March  8th,  1845. 


11  TESTIMONULS. 

7\)  the  Author,  from  John  Vandenhofp,  Esa.,  Professor  of  Elocution 
in  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music,  London, 

In  reference  to  your  System  of  Elocution,  published  in  New- York, 
I  am  proud  to  recognise  it  as  the  best  practical  work  I  know  on  the 

subject. 

I  have  made  satisfactory  experiments  of  it  in  my  own  practice  ;  and 
shall  make  it  a  Text-Book,  both  with  my  private  pupils,  and  my  Classes 
at  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music ;  for  which  purpose  send  me  two  hun- 
dred copies. 

1  shall  recommend  it  also  to  the  Elocutionary  Professors  of  our  seve- 
ral Colleges.  (Signed)  J.  Vandenhofp. 

34  North  Bank,  30th  Sept.  1845. 

From  C.  S.  Henry,  D.  D.,  Professor  of  Philosophy  and  History  in 
the  University  of  Seic-  York. 

I  have  the  highest  opinion  of  Mr.  Vandenhoff's  System  of  Elocution. 
I  know  of  no  book  so  well  fitted  for  the  use  of  learner  or  teacher.  It 
possesses  in  an  eminent  degree  the  combination  of  good  qualities  most 
of  all  to  be  desired  in  a  work  of  instruction— correctness  of  theory,  sim- 
plicity and  clearness  of  exposition,  and  ease  of  practice. 

(Signed)  C.  S.  Henry,  D.  D. 

Professor  of  Philosophy  and  History  in  the 
University  of  New-York. 

From  A.  Richardson,  Esa.,  Principal  of  the  Freehold  Young  Ladies' 
Seminary. 

I  have  introduced  Vandenhoff's  Elocution  into  our  Seminary,  and 
am  highly  pleased  with  the  trial  which  we  have  thus  far  made  of  its 
merits,  viz:  tiie  great  interest  which  a  large  class  of  young  ladies 
manifest  in  the  subject  of  Elocution  since  we  have  introduced  this  work. 
This  branch  of  education,  hitherto  one  of  the  most  uninteresting  to  my 
pupils,  is  now  regarded  as  entirely  the  reverse. 

(Signed)        A.  Richardson. 

From  the  Annual  Report  of  the  Board  of  Direction  of  the  New- 
York  Mercantile  Library  Associ.ition — (1844.) 

Elocution. — Attempts  have  been  made,  in  former  years,  to  form  classes 
in  this  department  of  education,  which  have  proved  unsuccessful.  The 
Board,  during  the  past  year,  have  been  cnaoled  to  interest  a  sufficient 
number  of  the  members  in  the  subject,  to  form  a  class  which  is  now  in 
operation. 

The  class  in  Reading  and  Oratory  is  under  the  instruction  of  Mr. 
George  Vandenhoff,  whose  eminent  qualifications  are  too  well  known 
to  need  a  word  of  recommendation  from  us. 


TESTIMONIALS. 


The  book  has  also  been  used  in  Classes  of  Ladies  m  several  private 
families,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  following  testimonials : 

From  Jacob  Leroy,  Esa.,  {Lafayette  Place.) 

Mr.  Vandenhoff 's  Treatise  on  Elocution  has  been  used  by  a  Class 
of  Ladies  at  my  house,  and  has  been  found  in  every  way  adapted  to 
produce  its  intended  effect.  (Signed)  Jacob  Leroy. 

F^-om  George  Gibbs,  Esa.,  (768  Broadway.) 

I  take  pleasure  in  expressing  the  highly  favorable  opinion  of  many 
friends  who  have  seen  Mr.  Vandenhoff 's  work  on  Elocution,  under 
his  thoroughly  analytical  method  of  teaching. 

(Signed)  George  Gibbs. 

18th  March,  1845. 


Noticts  ot  tfic  ^ress. 

"  It  is  admirably  calculated  for  the  purpose  which  it  is  designed." 

Boston  Evening  Gazette. 

"This  is  a  capital  work,  thoroughly  practical,  and  in  every  sense  a 
good  book.  The  exercises  are  very  judiciously  selected,  and  exhibit 
great  tact  and  judgment.  It  will  be  found  of  great  service  to  the  student, 
in  the  acquisition  of  an  art  which  is  daily  gaining  ground  as  an  essen- 
tial part  of  the  education  of  a  gentleman.  We  think  it  will  even  add 
to  the  already  distinguished  reputation  of  the  author." — Neics-Letter. 

"  This  is  an  excellent  work,  and  written  by  one  who  is  fully  compe- 
tent to  the  task  he  has  undertaken.  To  those  who  are  studying  Elocu- 
tion, it  is  invaluable.  To  all  who  would  acquire  a  good  knowledge  of 
language,  and  correct  manner  of  reading  and  speaking,  we  would 
warmly  recommend  this  work." — Crystal  Fount. 

"  The  directions  in  Mr.  Vandenhoff 's  book  are  so  simple,  so  easy  of 
comprehension,  and  may  be  so  readily  practised,  that  there  should  be 
no  mercy  shown  hereafter  to  any  slovenly  or  negligent  reader  who  has 
the  means  to  possess  himself  of  a  copy  of  this  excellent  system." — 
Broadway  Journal. 

"This  book  went  to  a  second  edition  within  si.K  months  of  the  first 
appearance.  The  author  is  a  Professor  of  Elocution  in  the  city  of  New- 
York,  and  any  one  will  be  convinced  by  reading  a  few  pages  of  his 
work,  that  experience  has  shown  him  the  defects  which  usually  impair 
Elocution.    Elocution  properly  embraces  the  subjects  of  articulation, 


IV  TESTIMOXIALS. 

punctuation,  pauses,  and  modulation  of  voice  in  pitch  and  emphasis, 
all  of  wkicli  are  treated  in  this  book,  intelligibly,  and  we  should  judge 
from  a  slight  examination,  to  good  purpose.  Half  the  volume  is  de- 
voted to  the  developement  of  the  system  and  exercises,  and  the  other 
part  to  selections  of  prose  and  poetry  for  reading,  recitation,  and  de- 
clamation."— Utica  Daily  Gazette. 

"  The  author  of  this  work  is  well  known  as  one  of  the  most  ac- 
complished elocutionists  in  America.  The  volume  before  us  is  pro- 
nounced by  the  best  of  judges  to  be  simple  and  clear  in  its  teach- 
ings, and  admirably  adapted  for  the  use  of  Schools.  The  reading  is 
of  the  first  order,  and  the  book  appears  to  have  been  got  up  with 
great  care." — Onondaga  StavJard. 

"  Very  many  books  have  been  ^vritten  for  the  purpose  of  teaching 
the  principles  of  good  reading  and  speaking;  some  of  much  merit. 
We  have  examined  a  work  by  G.  VandenhofF,  teacher  of  Elocution  in 
the  city  of  New- York,  entitled  'A  Plain  System  of  Elocution,'  with 
which  we  are  much  pleased.  It  explains  the  principles  of  the  art  in  a 
clear  and  forcible  manner,  and  illustrates  them  by  ingenious  characters, 
well  calculated  to  assist  the  learner.  Its  selections  of  examples  in 
prose  and  verse  are  excellent,  and  the  arrangement  very  good."' — 
Rochester  Daily  American. 

"A  second  edition  of  Mr.  Vandenhoflf's  admirable  work  on  this  im- 
portant branch  of  education.  The  present  edition  is  greatly  improved 
and  enlarged,  and  takes  in  tlie  various  branches  of  the  subject; — logical 
and  musical  reading  and  declamation  ;  oratorical,  poetical  and  dramatic 
reading  and  recitation.  As  now  published,  the  work  forms  a  complete 
'  speaker,'  and  is  well  adapted  for  private  or  school  use.  The  rapid 
sale  of  the  first  edition  shows  that  Mr.  Vandenhoflf's  labors  in  this  de- 
partment are  not  unappreciated." — Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  This  second  edition  of  Mr.  Vandenhoif 's  Elocution  proves  that  it 
is  appreciated  by  those  for  whom  it  is  chiefly  intended.  Teachers  and 
parents  are  indebted  to  the  author  for  this  aid  to  their  labors.  The  re- 
marks on  articulation  and  pronunciation  are  very  judicious,  and  the  se- 
lections of  exercises,  both  in  prose  and  poetry,  show  good  taste.  In- 
deed, the  book  may  be  studied  with  profit  by  many  who  imagine  them- 
selves out  of  the  ranks  of  learners,  for  its  views  on  many  subjects  con- 
nected with  this  science  ^re  quite  original." — Evening  Gazette. 

"The  second  edition  of  a  work  which  we  noticed  when  it  first  ap- 
peared. Mr.  Vandenhoff  is  one  of  the  most  accomplished  practical 
elocutionists  in  the  country.  He  is  also  a  scholar,  thoroughly  ac- 
quainted with  the  rules  of  the  science  which  he  has  made  it  his  pro- 
fession to  teach." — Freeman's  Journal. 


THE 


ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 


THE 

AET  OF  ELOCUTIOI: 

OR, 

liOOICAI.     AND    MUSICAL. 

READING  AND  DECLAMATION. 

WITH 

AN    APPENDIX, 

CONTAINING    A    COPIOUS   PRACTICE    IN 

ORATORICAL,  POETICAL,  AND  DRAMATIC 

READING  AND  RECITATION; 

THE   ■WHOLE    FORMING 

A    COMPLETE    SPEAKER. 

WBLL  ADAPTED  TO  PRIVATE  PUPILS,  CLASSES,  AND  THE  USE  OF  SCHOOLS. 

BY  G.  YANDENHOFF, 

THIRD    EDITION. 

NEW-YORK : 
C.  SHEPARD,  191  BROADWAY. 

PHILADELPHIA  :   THOMAS,  COWPEETHWAIT  &  CO. 

CINCINNATI :  H.  W.  DERBY  &  CO. 

BOSTON  :  GOULD,  KENDALL  &  LINCOLN. 

18  47. 


Entered  according  to  an  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1846,  by 

C.  SHEPARD, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


Whioht,  Typog.  ei  Imp.  74  Fulton  at. 


M\\ 


PREFACE. 


The  work  now  offered  to  the  Public  is  an  enlargement 
and  improvement,  by  the  addition  of  much  original  matter, 
of  the  Author's  previous  publication,  entitled  '•'  A  Plain 
System  of  Elocution,''  which  ran  through  two  editions,  but 
which  is  now  so  much  improved  upon  as  to  induce  the 
Author  to  change  its  name.  The  alterations  and  additions 
made  to  that  System  are  the  result  of  reflection,  study,  and 
of  the  experience  gathered  from  an  extensive  practice  as 
an  instructor.  The  Author  has  great  pleasure  in  acknow- 
ledging the  valuable  suggestions  which  he  has  received 
and  adopted,  from  his  father,  John  Vandenhoff,  Esq.,  Pro- 
fessor of  Elocution  at  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music  in 
London.  To  Dr.  Rush's  Treatise  on  the  Voice,  the  Author 
has  had  recourse  for  light  on  many  of  the  niceties  of  the 
elementary  sounds  of  our  language;  and  gladly  takes  this 
opportunity  of  offering  his  humble  tribute  to  the  masterly 
analysis  of  the  voice,  its  functions  and  capabilities,  contain- 
ed in  that  philosophical  and  eloquent  work. 

He  takes  this  occasion  also  to  renew  his  acknowledg- 

A* 


1268411 


X  PREFACE. 

ments  to  those  families  and  heads  of  academies  who  have 
encouraged  his  attempt  to  awaken  greater  attention  to  this 
essential  branch  of  education,  and  who  do  him  the  honor  to 
approve  of  his  system  of  instruction.* 

The  numerous  classes  of  elegant  and  accomplished 
ladies  who  have  read  with  him,  in  the  houses  of  families  of 
the  highest  standing  and  respectability,  prove  that  a  just 
appreciation  is  entertained  of  this  art  as  an  indispensable 
female  acquirement :  and  the  attention  and  improvement  of 
his  pupils  have  made  his  task  one  of  pleasure  and  self- 
gratulation.  The  correct  and  elegant  enunciation  of  her 
native  tongue,  and  a  graceful  style  of  reading  the  language 
of  its  prose  writers  and  poets,  cannot  be  too  assiduously 
cultivated  by  a  lady :  the  accomplishment  is  peculiarly 
feminine,  and  its  possession  is  a  distinctive  mark  of  high 
breeding  and  good  education.  If  the  Author's  exertions 
shall  be  deemed  to  have  facilitated  its  acquirement,  he  will 
be  proud  indeed.  p,    -y 

New.  York,  May,  1846. 


*  See  Testimonials. 


ART   OF   ELOCUTION, 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  value  of  Elocution  ;  particularly  to  the  Orator — Elocution 
a  necessary  part  of  Oratory^-Sketch  of  an  Orator — "  Can 
Elocution  be  taught?" — Answer  to  the  Right  Reverend  Dr. 
Whately's  (Archbishop  of  Dublin)  objections  to  a  System  of 
Elocution— the  arguments  in  his  Elements  of  Rhetoric  com- 
batted  by  his  arguments  in  his  Elements  of  Logic — Advice 
to  the  Student. 

Elocution,  as  its  derivation  (ehquor)  indicates,  is  the 
art  of  speaking,  or  delivering  language ;  and  it  embraces 
every  principle  and  constituent  of  utterance,  from  the  arti- 
culation of  the  simplest  elementary  sounds  of  language,  up 
to  the  highest  expression  of  which  the  human  voice  is  capa- 
ble in  speech. 

Of  the  importance,  if  not  the  necessity,  of  such  an  art  to 
a  perfect  system  of  education,  one  would  think  there  could 
not  be  two  opinions.  We  must  all  speak ;  it  must  therefore 
be  desirable  to  speak  with  propriety  and  force ;  as  much  so 
as  regards  the  utterance  of  our  language  as  its  grammatical 
accuracy.     And  though  any  language,  however  meagre  and 


12  AET   OF   ELOCtJTION. 

however  mean,  and  any  utterance,  however  imperfect  and 
inelegant,  (so  that  it  be  barely  intelligible,)  are  sufficient 
for  any  of  the  commonest  purposes  of  speech,  yet  something 
higher  is  surely  necessary  even  to  the  ordinary  conversa- 
tion of  tlie  gentleman  and  the  man  of  education. 

But  most  of  us  are  called  upon  occasionally  in  public, 
even  though  we  may  not  belong  to  any  of  the  learned  pro- 
fessions, to  express  our  opinions,  to  state  our  views,  to  offer 
our  advice,  or  to  justify  some  course  we  may  have  pursued 
in  relation  to  affairs  in  which  others  beside  ourselves  are 
interested ;  and  on  such  occasions,  the  advantage  of  a 
natural,  elegant,  and  easy  delivery  cannot  but  be  felt  in  se- 
curing the  ready  attention  and  favor  of  the  audience. 

To  him  who  desires  to  make  a  figure  in  the  Pulpit,  in 
the  Senate,  or  at  the  Bar,  a  good  delivery,  a  nervous  and 
elegant  style  of  Elocution,  are  as  essential,  almost,  as  force 
of  argument  and  grace  of  language.  How  many  a  good 
story  is  marred  in  the  telling :  how  many  a  good  sermon  is 
lost  in  the  preaching :  how  many  a  good  speech,  excellent 
in  matter,  argument,  arrangement,  language,  falls  listless 
on  the  ear,  from  the  apathetic,  inelegant,  and  powerless 
manner  of  the  speaker !  Elocution  is  indeed  a  part  of  ora- 
tory, essential  to  its  pcrfectmi.  He  who  would  touch  the 
heart,  "  and  wield  at  will  the  fierce  democracie,"  must  have 

"  wit,  and  words,  and  worth, 

Action  and  utterance,  and  the  power  of  speech. 
To  stir  men's  blood !" 


INTRODUCTION.  13 

Thus,  "  doubly  armed,"  the  orator  rises  cahn  in  the  confi- 
dence of  his  strength.  In  vain  the  angry  shout,  in  vain  the 
discordant  tumult  of  a  hostile  and  prejudiced  assembly: 

"  ilium 

Non  civium  ardor  prava  jubentium 
Mente  quatit  soUda." 

He  stands  unmoved  amid  the  storm.  He  speaks,  and  "his 
big  manly  voice"  goes  forth,  like  the  trumpet's  sound,  above 
all  the  tumult.  He  is  by  turns  patient  or  indignant,  bold 
or  yielding,  as  it  suits  his  purpose :  he  exhorts,  he  threat- 
ens, he  supplicates,  he  persuades.  The  storm  is  hushed — 
the  waves  subside  ;  he  has  stretched  his  wand  over  the 
troubled  waters,  and  the  tempest  is  at  rest.  And  now  all 
hang  breathless  on  his  lips ; — he  warms,  he  glows,  he  is  on 
fire :  his  hearers  are  carried  away  with  him ;  they  follow 
him  in  all  his  windings,  through  every  change  of  feeling 
and  passion.  He  bears  down  every  obstacle ;  his  friends 
he  animates  with  his  enthusiasm,  he  lashes  his  opponents 
with  his  satire, — he  withers  them  with  his  scorn,  he  crush- 
es, he  annihilates  them  with  his  terrible,  his  resistless  pow- 
er.  And  now  "lo  !  lo  !  Triumphe  !  "  Acclamations  of 
delight  rend  the  air  ;  he  is  crowned  with  garlands,  he  is 
borne  in  triumph  to  his  home,  the  hero  of  the  day  ;  achiev- 
ing a  bloodless  victory,  a  stainless  triumph — nobler  than 
was  ever  won  by  conquest  and  the  sword — the  victory  of 
mind  over  mind,  the  triumph  of  the  intellect  of  one  man 
over  the  understandings  and  the  hearts  of  thousands. 


14  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Such  is  the  triumph  of  the  perfect  orator  ; — a  triumph 
due  as  much  to  the  power  and  grace  of  delivery,  as  to  the 
force  of  argument  or  the   eloquence  of  diction. 

And  how  is  this  power  and  grace  of  delivery  to  be  ac- 
quired ? — for  acquired  it  must  be — it  is  born  with  no  man : 
it  is  indeed  to  this  part  of  oratory  that  the  maxim  "  orator 
jit"  is  peculiarly  applicable.  It  is  an  art ;  and  is  to  be  at- 
tained by  rule,  by  training  and  discipline,  by  constant  and 
well  regulated  exercise,  by  using  the  mental  faculties  to 
a  quick  power  of  analysis  of  thought,  and  the  cultivation  of 
the  ear  and  vocal  organs  for  a  ready  appreciation  and  exe- 
cution of  tone.  And  that  system  that  furnishes  the  best 
and  readiest  means  of  attaining  these  objects,  is  the  best 
system  of  Elocution  :  the  one  that  fails  of  this  is  worth 
nothing. 

And  here  I  will  take  tlie  opportunity  of  answering  the 
objections  of  those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  promulgating  the 
opmion  that  Elocution  cannot  be  taught — that  is,  that  it  is 
not  an  art ;  for  to  deny  that  it  admits  of  rules,  and  princi- 
ples, is  to  deny  it  the  place  of  an  art.  The  name  of  the  Rt. 
Revd.  Dr.  Whately,  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  is  the  greatest 
that  I  find  among  the  list  of  these  objectors ;  and  in  an- 
swering his  objections  to  all  or  any  System  of  Elocution,  I 
shall  be  able,  I  think,  to  dispose  of  the  whole  question — 
"  Can  Elocution  be  taught?" 

Dr.  Whately,  in  his  Elements  of  Rhetoric,  (Part  IV. 
c.  2,)  while  he  admits,  and  indeed  insists  on,  the  importance 
of  a  good  Elocution,  emphatically  protests  against  any  sys- 


IN^TRODUCTION.  15 

tern  for  its  attainment :  his  own  directions  being  that  every 
person  should  read  and  speak  in  a  natural  inanner;  and  he 
says  (§  3,  p.  356,*)  "  that  in  reading  the  Bible,  for  example, 
or  anything  which  is  not  intended  to  appear  as  his  own 
composition,  it  is  desirable  that  he  should  deliver  it  as  if  he 
were  reporting  another's  sentiments,  which  were  both  fully 
understood  and  felt  in  all  their  force  by  the  repoiler." 
Admitted;  this  is  the  very  object  of  Elocution  :  and  how  is 
it  to  be  attained  ?  He  tells  us — "  the  only  way  to  do  this 
effectually,  icith  such  moduhfion-s  of  voice,  4*c.  as  are  suitable 
to  each  word  aiid  jmssage,  is  to  fix  the  mind  earnestly  on  the 
meaning,  and  leave  nature  and  habit  to  suggest  the  utterance  : 
and  for  this  plan  "  he  lays  claim  to  some  originality  of  his 
own"  (Part  IV.  c.  i,  §1) ;  though  he  says,  (c.  ii.,  §  2,)  that 
"  it  is  not  enough  that  the  reader  should  himself  actually 
understand  a  composition  ;  it  is  possible,  notwithstanding,  to 
read  it  as  if  he  did  not :  and  in  the  same  manner,  it  is  not 
sufficient  that  he  should  himself  feel  and  be  impressed 
with  the  force  of  what  he  utters ;  he  niay,  notwithstanding,  de- 
liver it  as  if  he  were  unimpressed.^^  Now  can  anything  be  so 
vague  and  so  contradictory  as  such  directions  as  these : 
"  DonH  u^e  any  system  of  Elocution  :  it  will  give  you  a  false 
style;  but  read  and  speak  naturally,  as  if  you  understood 
and  felt  what  you  are  reading  and  speaking  ;  nature  and  liabit 
will  show  you  how  ;  though,  at  the  same  time,  however  clearly 
you  may  understand,  and  however  deeply  you  may  feel  what 

*  London  edition. 


16  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

you  are  delivering^  it  is  quite  possible  that  that  you  may,  not' 
withstanding,  deliver  it  with  an  utter  absence  of  understand- 
ing and  feeling." 

And  why  ?  Clearly ybr  the  want  of  a  system,  which  by 
rules  and  principles  of  art  shall  render  such  a  contradiction 
next  to  impossible. 

The  right  reverend  and  learned  Doctor  (c.  ii.,  §  2,)  lays 
it  down  that,  "  To  the  adoption  of  any  such  artificial  scheme 
of  Elocution — (that  is,  by  a  peculiar  set  of  marks  for  deno- 
ting the  pauses,  emphases,  &c.) — there  are  three  weighty 
objections" :  and  the  reverend  and  learned  logician  states 
the  objections  to  be, 

"  1st.  That  the  proposed  system  must  necessarily  be  im- 
perfect ; 

"  2dly.  That  if  it  icere  perfect,  it  would  be  a  circuitous  path 
to  the  object  in  view  ;   and, 

"  3dly.  That  even  if  both  these  objections  were  removed,  the 
object  would  not  be  effectually  obtained." 
That  is,  even  if  the  system  were  perfect,  and  not  only  per- 
fect, but  direct,  still  it  would  not  be  effectual !  To  the 
learned  Doctor,  who  is  a  master  of  the  syllogism,  and  of 
every  form  of  argument,  this  may  be  clear ;  but,  I  confess, 
it  puzzles  my  duller  apprehension  to  understand  how  ineffi- 
ciency can  follow  from  the  perfection  of  means  working  di- 
rectly to  their  end.  However,  let  us  examine  how  the 
learned  and  reverend  Doctor  proceeds  to  prove  the  validity 
of  his  objections  to  this  artificial  system  of  Elocution.  He 
says  in  the  same  section,  "  First,  such  a  system  must  ne- 


INTEODUCTION.  17 

cessarily  be  imperfect,  because,  though  the  emphatic  word 
in  each  sentence  may  easily  be  pointed  out  in  writing,  no 
variety  of  marks  would  suffice  to  indicate  the  different  tones 
in  which  the  different  emphatic  words  should  be  pro- 
nounced :  though  on  this  depends  frequently  the  whole 
force,  and  even  sense  of  the  expression." 

As  an  instance,  he  gives  the  following  passage,  (Mark, 
iv.,  21)  :  "  Is  a  candle  brought  to  be  put  under  a  bushel  or 
under  a  bed  ?"  And  he  adds,  "  I  have  heard  this  so  pro- 
nounced as  to  imply  that  there  was  no  other  alternative,  and 
yet  the  emphasis  was  laid  on  the  right  words  ?" 

What  emphasis  ?  The  Doctor  (with  respect  I  speak  it) 
clearly  is  not  versed  in  the  distinction  between  inflection 
and  etnplmsis,  or  in  the  difference  between  one  species  of 
emphasis  and  another.  I  reply  to  him,  that  a  pupil  who 
had  had  three  lessons  only  in  Elocution,  on  a  good  analyti- 
cal  system,  could  not  have  been  guilty  of  the  gross  perver- 
sion  of  sense,  by  false  reading,  instanced  above ;  for  he 
would  have  learnt  very  early  in  his  course,  the  inflection 
due  to  a  simple  interrogative  sense, — that  apposition  of 
meaning  requires  apposition  of  inflection, — and  that,  to 
make  antithetical  injlections  and  emphasis  on  words  having 
apposition  of  meaning,  is  such  a  total  subversion  of  every 
rule  of  Elocution  and  common  sense,  as  to  excite  wonder  at 
the  possibility  of  any  rational  being  falling  into  so  absurd  an 
error.  And  the  same  pupil,  if  called  upon  to  mark  to  the 
eye  the  correct  reading  of  the  above  sentence,  could  imme- 
diately  do  it,  (certainly,  any  pupil  of  mine  could,)  so  as  to 


18  ART    OF   ELOCUTION. 

preclude  the  commission  of  so  gross  an  error — equal,  in  its 
absurdity,  to  that  of  the  aspiring  youth,  who,  reckless  of 
pause,  inflection,  or  emphasis,  stated  that 

"  His  name  was  Nerval  on  the  Grampian  hills," — 

leaving  the  hearer  to  imagine  that  in  the  lowlands  he  went 
under  another  cognomen. 

But,  really,  the  whole  course  of  the  right  reverend 
prelate  against  a  system  of  Elocution,  is  so  weak  and  illogi- 
cal  that  it  is  pahiful  to  follow  liim  step  by  step. 

He  proceeds  to  say,  that  such  a  system,  if  perfect,  must 
be  circuitous,  because  it  professes  to  teach  the  tones,  empha- 
ses, &c.  which  nature,  or  custom,  which  is  a  second  nature, 
suggests — that  is,  because  its  principles  must  he  founded  on 
nature.  And  he  asks  triumphantly — "  Then,  if  this  be  the 
case,  why  not  leave  nature  to  do  her  own  work?" 

The  answer  is  obvious:  because  were  we  to  leave  na- 
ture to  do  her  own  work,  we  should  never  emerge  from  a 
rude  state  of  nature  ;  her  work  would  be  "  ferox,  dura, 
aspera." 

It  is  natural  to  man  to  walk  erect ;  but  the  infant  is  as- 
sisted in  its  earliest  efforts :  and  though  every  person  can 
walk,  it  is  not  every  person,  by  any  means,  who  carries 
himself  firmly,  easily,  and  gracefully.  We  see  a  stooping 
carriage,  rounded  shoulders,  a  shuflling  gait,  an  uneven 
uncertain  step  ;  yet  all  walk,  and  walk  as  their  nature,  or 
custom,  (which,  as  Dr.  Whately  says,  is  second  nature,) 
leads  them  ;  and  every  time  they  indulge  this  their  nature, 


INTRODUCTION.  19 

they  confirm  themselves  in  the  practice  of  a  vicious  habit. 
Hence,  it  is  not  thought  preposterous,  or  unworthy  of  a  gen- 
tleman, to  learn  to  ivalk,  or  at  least  to  improve  his  personal 
carriage,  under  the  directions  of  a  drill-serjeant  and  a  fen- 
cing master;  and  to  acquire  by  art  and  exercise  the  bearing 
and  manly  step  which  distinguish  the  gentleman  from  the 
uncultivated  hind.  Thus,  it  is  clear,  that  it  is  not  always 
enough  to  leave  nature  to  herself:  when  so  left,  she  fre- 
quently degenerates  and  becomes  vitiated ;  and  we  are 
obliged  to  go  back  to  certain  principles,  drawn  even  from 
herself,  to  restore  her  to  her  perfect  form,  complexion,  and 
condition. 

"Lastly,"  says  the  right  reverend  Doctor,  "if  a  person 
could  learn  thus  to  read  and  speak,  as  it  were  by  note, 
with  the  same  fluency  and  accuracy  as  are  attainable  in  the 
case  of  singing,  still  the  desired  object  of  a  perfectly  natural 
as  well  as  correct  elocution,  would  never  be  in  this  way  at- 
tained.  The  reader's  attention  being  fixed  on  his  own  voice, 
the  inevitable  consequence  would  be,  that  he  would  betray 
more  or  less  his  studied  and  artificial  delivery  ;  and  would, 
in  the  same  degree,  manifest  an  offensive  affectation." 

Now,  the  very  object  of  a  system  of  Elocution,  such  as 
the  right  reverend  Doctor  so  strenuously  condemns,  is  to 
give,  by  practice  on  just  principles,  an  habitual  power  of 
vocal  intonation,  inflection,  and  expression,  suited  to  every 
condition  of  sense,  every  style  of  composition,  every  variety 
of  feeling,  every  vicissitude  of  passion  :  and  the  Elocution- 
ist  who  is  thoroughly  master  of  his  art,  no  more^es  his  at- 


20  ART   OF  ELOCUTION. 

tention,  while  speaking,  on  his  ovm  voice,  or  on  the  rules  by 
which  he  is  producing  his  effects,  than  the  Rhetorician,  in 
the  course  of  a  composition  or  an  oration,  is  thinking  mi- 
nutely of  every  rule  of  grammar,  logic  or  rhetoric,  by  which 
to  construct  his  sentences,  to  round  his  periods,  to  divide  his 
discourse,  or  to  conduct  his  argument.  The  skilful  fencer, 
whom  practice  has  made  master  of  his  weapon,  uses  it  ra- 
pidly and  with  effect,  without  thinking  of  the  names  of  the 
guards  or  parades  that  he  is  executing. 

"  When  one  is  learning  a  language,  he  attends  to  the 
sounds ;  but  when  he  is  master  of  it,  he  attends  only  to  the 
sense  of  what  he  would  express." — {Reid  on  the  Mind.) 

So,  in  pursuing  a  system  of  Elocution,  the  pupil  acquires 
an  easy  habit,  or  style  of  delivery,  by  exercising  himself,  on 
rule,  in  giving  voice  and  expression  to  the  language  of  oth- 
ers, or  to  his  own  premeditated  and  pre-written  effusions, — 
till,  from  practice,  what  he  has  done  continually,  by  rule 
and  art,  in  set  and  studied  speech,  he  comes  at  last  to  exe- 
cute easily  and  naturally,  and  without  thought  of  the  means, 
in  spontaneous  and  original  effusions. 

I  shall  conclude  my  answer  to  Dr.  Whately's  objections 
by  an  extract  from  his  preface  to  his  own  Elements  of 
Logic  :  the  remarks  in  which,  in  defence  of  a  System  of 
Logic,  are,  mutatis  mutandis,  exactly  applicable  to  his  own 
objections  to  a  System  of  Elocution  ;  so  that  I  am  happy  to 
have  it  in  my  power  to  be  able  to  bring  against  him  a  much 
higher  authority  than  myself — his  own;  and  to  let  the  just 
reasoning  contained  in  his  "  Elements  of  Logic,"  refute  the 


INTEODTJCTION.  21 

false  positions  put  forth  in  his  "  Elements  of  Rhetoric."  He 
thus  ably  and  happily  maintains  the  utility  of  Logic,  and 
shows  the  importance  and  necessity  of  a  system  for  its 
attainment : 

"  One  preliminary  observation  it  may  be  worth  while  to 
offer  in  this  place.  If  it  were  inquired,  what  is  to  be  re- 
garded as  the  most  appropriate  intellectual  occupation  of 
7na7i,  as  man,  what  would  be  the  answer  ?  The  statesman 
is  engaged  with  poliiieal  atlairs  ;  the  soldier,  with  military  ; 
the  mathematician,  with  the  properties  of  numbers  and  mag- 
nitudes ;  the  merchant,  with  commercial  concerns,  &;c. ; 
but  in  what  are  all  and  each  of  these  employed  ? — em- 
ployed, I  mean,  as  men.  Evidently,  in  reasoning.  They 
are  all  occupied  in  deducing,  well  or  ill,  conclusions  from 
premises ;  each  concerning  the  subject  of  his  own  particu- 
lar business.  If,  therefore,  it  be  found  that  the  process 
going  on  daily,  in  each  of  so  many  different  minds,  is,  in 
any  respect,  the  same,  and  if  the  principles  on  which  it  is 
conducted  can  be  reduced  to  a  regular  system,  and  if  rules 
can  be  deduced  from  that  system,  for  the  better  conducting 
of  the  process,  then,  it  can  hardly  be  denied,  that  such  a 
system  and  such  rules  must  be  especially  worthy  the  atten- 
tion,— not  of  the  members  of  this  or  that  profession 
merely,  but — of  every  one  who  is  desirous  of  possessing 
a  cultivated  mind.  To  understand  the  theory  of  that 
which  is  the  appropriate  intellectual  occupation  of  Man 
in  general,  and  to  learn  to  do  that  well,  which  every 
one  will  and   must  do,  whether   well  or   ill,    may   surely 


22  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

be  considered  as  an  essential  part  of  a  liberal  educa- 
tion." 

This  is  most  true,  apt,  clear,  and  conclusive ;  and  it  is 
as  applicable  to  Elocution  as  to  Logic.  Speech,  as  much  as 
reason,  distinguishes  man  from  the  brute  ;  all  men  must  use 
it,  whether  well  or  ill,  in  the  daily  concerns  of  their  lives, 
or  in  more  public  affairs,  and  in  a  more  extensive  arena  : 
and  the  advantages  of  a  system  for  doing  it  well  are  equally 
apparent. 

The  following  passage  from  the  same  preface  is  a  di- 
rect answer  to  the  right  reverend  Doctor's  own  objections 
to  an  artificial  system  of  Elocution  : 

"  It  has  usually  been  assumed,  however,  in  the  case  of 
the  present  subject,  that  a  theory  which  does  not  tend  to  the 
improvement  of  practice  is  utterly  unworthy  of  regard  ; 
and  then,  it  is  contended  that  Logic  [Elocution)  has  no  such 
tendency,  on  the  plea  that  men  may  and  do  reason  (speak) 
correctly  without  it :  an  objection  which  would  equally  ap- 
ply in  the  case  of  Grammar,  Music,  Chemistry,  Mechanics, 
&c.,  in  all  of  which  systems  the  practice  must  have  existed 
previously  to  the  theory." 

How  alive  the  right  reverend  Doctor  is  to  the  weakness 
of  the  argument  against  a  system  for  his  favorite  science, 
and  yet  with  what  triumph  he  uses  the  same  defeated  argu- 
ment against  my  art, — exclaiming,  "  Then  why  not  leave 
nature,  or  custom,  which  is  second  nature,  to  do  her  own 
work  1" 


INTRODUCTION.  23 

He  proceeds,  and  I  go  with  him  heartily  : 
"  But  many  who  allow  the  use  of  systematic  principles 
in  other  things,  are  accustomed  to  cry  up  common  sense 
as  the  sufficient  and  only  safe  guide  in  reasoning."  [This 
is  exactly  what  the  reverend  Doctor  himself  does  in  the  case  of 
Elocution, — and  therefore  let  him  give  the  coup  de  grace  to 
his  own  position.) 

"Now,  by  common  sense  is  meant,  I  apprehend,  (when 
the  term  is  used  with  any  distinct  meaning,)  an  exercise  of 
the  judgment  unaided  by  any  art  or  system  of  rules ;  such 
an  exercise  as  we  must  necessarily  employ  in  numberless 
cases  of  daily  occurrence  ;  in  which,  having  no  established 
principles  to  guide  us, — no  line  of  procedure,  as  it  were, 
distinctly  chalked  out, — we  must  needs  act  on  the  best  ex- 
temporaneous  conjectures  we  can  form.  But  that  common 
sense  is  only  our  second  best  guide, — that  the  rules  of  art, 
if  judiciously  framed,  are  always  desirable  when  they  can 
be  had,  is  an  assertion  for  the  truth  of  which  I  may  appeal 
to  the  testimony  of  mankind  in  general ;  which  is  so  much 
the  more  valuable,  inasmuch  as  it  may  be  accounted  the 
testimony  of  adversaries.  For  the  generality  have  a  strong 
predilection  in  favor  of  common  sense,  except  in  those  points 
in  which  they,  respectively,  possess  the  knoicledge  of  a  sys. 
tern,  of  rules  ;  but,  in  these  points,  they  deride  any  one  who 
trusts  to  unaided  common  sense.  A  sailor,  e.  g.,  will 
perhaps  despise  the  pretensions  of  medical  men,  and 
prefer  treating  a  disease  by  common  sense  ;  but  he  would 


24  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

ridicule  the  proposal  of  navigating  a  ship  by  common  sense, 
without  regard  to  the  maxims  of  nautical  art.  A  physician, 
again,  will  perhaps  contemn  systems  of  political  economy, 
of  logic,  or  metaphysics,  and  insist  on  the  superior  wisdom 
of  trusting  to  common  sense  in  such  matters  ;  but  he  would 
never  approve  of  trusting  to  common  sense  in  the  treatment 
of  diseases.  Neither,  again,  would  the  architect  recom- 
mend a  reliance  on  common  sense  alone  in  building,  nor 
the  musician  in  music,  to  the  neglect  of  those  systems  of 
rules,  which,  in  their  respective  arts,  have  been  deduced 
from  scientific  reasoning,  aided  by  experience.  And  the 
induction  might  be  extended  to  every  department  of  prac- 
tice. Since,  therefore,  each  gives  the  preference  to  unassisted 
common  sense  only  in  those  cases  where  he  himself  has  nothing 
else  to  trust  to,  and  invariably  resorts  to  the  rules  of  art  loher- 
ever  he  possesses  the  knowledge  of  them,  it  is  plain  that  man- 
kind universally  bear  their  testimony,  though  unconsciously, 
and  often  unwillingly,  to  the  preferableness  of  systematic 
knowledge  to  conjectural  judgments." 

Now,  could  any  one  have  furnished  a  clearer,  more  lo- 
gical, or  more  satisfying  answer  than  the  above,  to  the 
learned  and  right  reverend  Doctor's  own  objections  to  a 
system  of  Elocution  ;  and  to  his  doctrine,  in  his  Elements  of 
Rhetoric,  in  favor  of  '•  unaided  common  sense,"  against  "  the 
rules  of  art"  in  delivery,  viz.  :  "The  practical  rule  to  be 
adopted,  is  not  only  to  pay  no  studied  attention  to  the  voice, 
but  studiously  to  withdraw  the  thoughts  from  it,  and  to 
dwell  as  intently  as  possible  on  the  sense ;  trusting  to  na- 


INTRODUCTION.  25 

ture,  (i.  e.,  common  sense,)  to  suggest  spontaneously  the 
proper  emphases  and  tones"  ! 

I  am  contented  that  the  learned  prelate's  doctrine  should 
be  adjudged  on  his  own  arguments,  and  that  his  objections 
to  a  system  of  Elocution  (which  he  does  not  possess)  should 
be  answered  by  his  able  defence  of  a  system  of  Logic,  of 
the  rules  of  which  he  is  master. 

I  have  dwelt  thus  long  on  the  right  reverend  prelate's 
opposition  to  Elocution  as  an  art,  because  I  have  fre- 
quently felt  that  his  testimony  was  of  great  weight  with 
many,  in  deterring  them  from  a  study  pronounced  useless 
or  impracticable  by  so  high  an  authority, — and  one  deserv- 
ing great  consideration  and  respect,  from  the  station,  erudi- 
tion, general  clearness  of  reasoning,  and  the  attainments  of 
its  author  :  and  it  is  therefore  a  source  of  great  satisfaction 
to  me,  to  find  that  he  has  himself  (in  his  Elements  of  Logic) 
furnished  arguments  against  himself,  (in  his  Elements  of 
Rhetoric,)  of  a  clearness  and  force  that  no  effort  of  mine 
could  have  attained  to. 

I  will  once  more  take  advantage  of  the  same  admirable 
preface,  to  adopt  for  my  own  purpose  the  language  of  the 
right  reverend  Doctor  : 

"  I  am  not  so  weak  as  to  imagine  that  any  system  can 
ensure  great  proficiency  in  any  pursuit  whatever,  either  in 
all  students,  or  in  a  very  large  proportion  of  them  :  '  We 
sow  many  seeds  to  obtain  a  few  flowers.'  *' 

But  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  add,  that  I  have  been  gra- 
tified by  finding  my  efforts  rewarded  by  the  marked  im- 

B 


26  AET  OF  ELOCUTION. 

provement  in  voice,  delivery,  expression  and  gesture,  of 
many  pupils  who  have  attended  my  course  of  instruction 
for  but  a  short  period ;  and  in  the  still  greater  advance  of 
those  who  have  patiently,  and  steadily,  and  laboriously  car- 
ried out  the  system  that  I  have  laid  down.  That  system 
has  no  pretension  to  profundity,  but  it  is  simple  and  intelli- 
gible, and,  I  think  I  may  venture  to  add,  (as  far  as  it  goes,) 
correct  in  theory,  and  easy  of  practice.  It  will,  therefore, 
I  trust,  be  found  of  service  to  the  student  in  the  acquisition 
of  an  art  which  is  daily  gaining  ground,  as  an  essential 
part  of  the  education  of  a  gentleman. 

I  have  added  to  the  system  a  full  practice  in  reading  and 
declamation,  extracted  from  the  works  of  the  best  authors 
in  prose  and  verse,  and  in  every  variety  of  style.  The  mere 
reading  aloud  of  these  extracts,  as  practice  in  reading  and 
declamation,  (after  an  understanding  of  the  rules  and  prin- 
ciples laid  down  in  the  system,)  even  without  an  instructor, 
will  be  of  great  advantage  to  the  student.  He  will  reap  at 
least  the  benefit  of  accustoming  his  ear  to  the  flow  of  the 
language,  and  so,  insensibly,  catching  something  of  the 
strength  and  spirit  of  their  diction. 

If  he  go  a  step  further,  and  read  them  under  the  direc- 
tion of  a  guide  who  can  point  out  to  him  the  peculiar  merits 
of  each,  and  show  him,  analytically,  how  every  beauty 
may  be  heightened  and  brought  out  into  strong  relief, — if 
he  will  practise  himself  with  such  an  instructor,  on  such 
models,  disciplining  his  ear,  his  action,  and  his  voice,  he 


INTRODUCTION.  27 

may  hope  to  attain  a  style  of  Composition,  Declamation,  and 
Gesture,  clear,  manly,  forcible  and  graceful. 

With  these  acquirements  united,  he  may  go  forth  with 
confidence  to  address  any  assembly  in  the  world  :  his  basis 
will  be  sure ;  practice  will  give  ease  and  confidence  to  his 
efforts ;  and  exercise  and  perseverance  amid  the  ^'forensis 
strepitus,"  or  whatever  other  public  arena  he  may  choose 
as  the  scene  of  his  exertions,  will  make  him  a  valuable  ally, 
a  safe  defender,  a  dangerous  antagonist,  a  skilful  debater,  a 

PERFECT  ORATOR  ! 


ART   OF  ELOCUTION. 


FIRST  DIVISION. 
ELEMENTS. 

Articulation. — Pronunciation. 

"  The  end  of  oratoiy  is  to  i^ersuade.  We  cannot 
persuade  without  being  first  clearly  understood  ;  we 
cannot  be  clearly  understood  without  distinct  utter- 
ance,— that  is,  a  clear 

ARTICULATION. 

This  is  the  first  requisite  in  the  reading  both  of 
prose  and  poetry.  Without  it,  the  metre  and  rhythm 
of  verse  are  destroyed ;  many  words  are  not  distin- 
guishable in  sound  from  others  of  somewhat  similar 
form,  though  of  widely  different  signification  ;  and  the 
whole  delivery  is  confused  and  inelegant.  With  a 
distinct  articulation,  a  speaker  of  only  moderate  power 
of  voice  is  heard  in  any  place  or  assembly,  much  more 
easily,  and  with  less  effort  to  himself,  than  one  of 
much  greater  power  of  organ,  whose  articulation  is 
imperfect :  for  it  has  been  observed,  that  loud,  con- 
fused noise,  even  though  much  greater  in  degree, 
does  not  travel  as  far  as  pure  and  musical  sound. 


30  AET   OF   EL^ 


AET   OF   ELOCITTION. 


Hence  the  necessity,  before  all  other  things,  of  a  clear, 
pure  articulation. 

To  acquire  this  perfectly,  it  is  necessary  to  recur 
to  the  first  principia^ — that  is,  the  elementary 
SOUNDS  of  our  language. 

Speech  is  articulate  vocal  sound.  That  sound  is 
represented  to  the  eye  by  signs :  these  signs  are  let- 
ters,— combined  into  syllables,  which  syllables  are 
combined  into  words — the  perfect  signs  of  things  ;  and 
the  vocal  utterance  of  these  signs  is  speech. 

Brutes  have  vocal  sounds,  but  not  speech  :  for  the 
sounds  they  utter  are  not  articulate.  It  is  given  to 
Man  alone  to  shape  his  voice  into  intelligible  articu- 
late somid,  which  can  communicate  thought,  desire, 
passion,  to  his  fellow-men. 

Perfect  articulation,  then,  depends  on  the  clear 
enunciation  of  certain  elementary  sounds,  whose  com- 
bination forms  words. 

The  signs  or  letters  representing  these  sounds,  and 
forming  the  alphabet  of  our  language,  have  been  clas- 
sified by  grammarians,  principally  as  vowels  and  con- 
sonants ;  and  they  define  a  vowel  as  a  simple  sound, 
perfect  in  itself, — and  a  consonant,  as  a  sound  that 
cannot  be  uttered  without  the  addition  or  help  of  a 
vowel. 

But  this  nomenclature  and  definition  is  imperfect  as 
a  guide  and  mark  of  the  articulate  sounds,  whatever 
may  be  its  value  as  a  classification  of  the  aljjhabetical 
signs  of  our  language.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  a  con- 
sonant  (so  called  from  its  supposed  dependence  for  its 
sound  on  an  attendant  vowel,)  cannot  be  individually 


SIGNS    AND    SOUNDS.  31 

named  without  the  help  of  a  vowel :  that  is  to  say, 
the  sign  or  letter  B  is  named  6e,  C  se,  D  de,  and  so 
on ;  but  these  consonants,  in  their  combination  with 
other  signs,  do  not  require  for  their  perfect  utterance 
the  aid  of  a  vowel  at  all ;  so  that  their  names  as  signs 
are  as  distinct  from  their  power  as  sounds,  as  the 
names  alpha,  beta,  theta,  of  the  Greek  alphabet,  are 
distinct  from  the  value  or  power  of  the  soimds  of 
a,  /3,  &,  when  combined  into  syllables  and  words. 

For,  if  a  consonant  required,  of  necessity,  an  atten- 
dant vowel  before  it  could  be  uttered,  we  never  could 
enunciate  at  all  such  words  as  black,  brandy,  claim, 
draiD,  flow,  grow,  throw,  strike^  and  other  words  com- 
mencing with  two  or  three  successive  consonants 
without  the  interposition  of  any  vowel :  for  it  will  be 
clear  to  any  one  who  will  commence  the  utterance  of 
any  such  word,  and  break  off  before  ari'iving  at  the 
vowel,  that  he  can  and  must  complete  the  sounds  of 
the  consonants  without  its  assistance. 

Thus,  let  any  one  begin  to  utter  the  word  brandy, 
(6r-andy,)  and  suddenly  arrest  his  voice  upon  br,  and 
he  will  perceive  that  he  has  uttered  a  sound  and  tone 
without  the  aid  of  a  vowel ;  and  so  of  cZ-ose,  th-row, 
fl-o\y,  cr-owd,  5/i-ame,  /?-ray,  <fec. ;  and  it  is  really  the 
same  with  words  commencing  with  a  single  consonant 
only,  as  6-ad,  c-old,  r-ide,  in-nke,  &c.  Each  sign, 
whether  a  vowel  or  a  consonant,  has  its  proper  ele- 
mentary sound  or  sounds,  however  different  in  quality 
or  degree  of  tone  those  sounds  may  be. 

Again,  the  seven  vowel  signs  in  our  language, 
A,  E,  I,  O,  U,  W,  Y, 


32  ART    OF   ELOCUTION. 

represent  many  more  sounds,  monothongal  and  diph- 
thongal, as  will  be  found  in  the  utterance  of  the  fol- 
lowing common  words : 

A-\\,     a-rm,     a-t,     a-le,     e-ve,     e-nd,     i-n,    isle, 
o-ld,     o-n,     d-o,     us,     ?^-nion, 

in  which  the  sign  A,  alone,  represents /owr  distinct 
sounds. 

And  there  are  many  consonant  sounds  which  are 
not  represented  by  any  single  sign  or  letter,  but  re- 
quire the  combination  of  several  letters  to  represent 
their  power :  as  the  sounds  ch  in  church,  th  (soft)  in 
truth,  thin,  and  th  (hard)  in  that,  <fcc. 

Yet  these  are  elementary  sounds ;  and  this  shows 
the  necessity  of  clearly  distinguishing  between  the 
mere  alphabetical  sign  and  the  elementary  sound,  or 
sounds,  which  it  represents. 

Now,  as  the  perfect  appreciation  and  utterance  of 
the  elementary  sounds  are  necessary  to  the  attainment 
of  a  clear  and  distinct  articulation  of  the  language, 
which  their  combination  forms,  it  is  essential  to  adopt 
a  classification  and  nomenclature  which  shall  convey 
a  clear  and  distinct  idea  of  their  value  in  speech. 
For  that  end,  none  can  be  found  more  definite  and 
exact  than  that  propounded  by  Dr.  Rush,  in  his  elo- 
quent and  philosophical  work  on  tiie  human  voice. 

He  divides  the  elementary  sounds  of  our  language 
into 

1.  TONICS— 2.  SUB-TONICS  — 3.  ATONICS; 

which  may  be  thus  briefly  defined  : 


ELEMENTARY   SOUNDS.  33 

1.  Tonics  (having  tone) — those  elementary  sounds 
which  have  a  distinct  and  perfect  tone  or  vocality, 
proper  to  themselves,  and  capable  of  being  held  or 
prolonged  by  the  voice  indefinitely. 

Such  is  the  sound  of  a  m  a-rm.  a-U.  &c.,  of  e  in  e-ve,  of  o  in 
o-ld,  &c. 

By  vocahty  is  meant  that  full,  or  (as  Dr.  Rush  defines  it) 
"  that  ra(/c?;6'  quality  of  voice  which  is  contradistinguished  from 
a  whisper  or  aspiration."  This  distinction  may  be  illustrated 
by  uttering  the  exclamations  ••  um  .'"  as  an  expression  of  doubt, 
inquiry,  &c.,  and  -sh  /"'  {\'ov  hush !)  as  enforcing  silence:  in  the 
first  of  which  (um!)  there  is  vocality,  and  in  the  second  (sh !) 
merely  a  whispered  aspiration,  without  toiw  or  vocal  sound. 

2.  Sub-tonics — whose  somid  has  also  tone  or  vo- 
cality, but  inferior  to  that  of  the  tonics  in  fullness 
and  power  of  sustainment. 

Such  is  the  sound  of  6  as  heard  in  6-ad,  d  in  cZ-ear,  I  in  Z-one, 
m  in  ?/i-ode,  n  in  m-ose,  &c. 

3.  Atonics — whose  sound  is  without  tone;  that  is, 
an    impulsion    of    breath  without  vocality* 

Such  is  the  sound  ot"  p  heard  in  p-ad,  t  in  t-ime,  s  in  s-igh, 
/"in^/^ade;  the  utterance  of  which  is  in  the  nature  of  an  explo- 
sive whisper. 

*  Mr.  Knowles,  in  his  Grammar,  talks  of  '■  voice  without 
breath,^''  as  the  distinctive  mark  of  the  pure  semi-vowels. 
Voice  without  breath !  This  is  an  organic  impossibility.  Voice 
cajinot  be  produced  without  breath,  though  breath  alone  does 
not,  without  the  assistance  of  the  vocal  organs,  produce  voice : 
as,  in  uttering  the  letter  S,  a  mere  sibilation  of  the  breath  takes 
place  without  vocality :  for  the  hissing  of  a  serpent  is  not  a  vo- 
cal sound ;  though  the  word  hiss  cannot  be  uttered  without  the 


34  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

TONICS. 

The  following  is  a  list  of  the  pure  Tonics :  their  sound  is 
given  in  the  separated  Italic  of  each  word,  according  to  its  or- 
dinary pronunciation. 


' 2  3  4 

i-11       O-n  ^-rm         A-t         A-\e 


Th-e-re       ir^-nd  ^-ve        /-ll  O-ld 

8  9 


D-o       B-r^ll  tJ-YW        Us 

1.  The  tonic  sound  of  a  in  a-U,  and  of  o  in  o-n,  is  organically 
the  same ;  with  this  difference  in  quantity,  that  in  o-U  it  is  long, 
in  o-n  it  is  short ;  they  are  accordingly  here  marked  under  the 
same  numeral,  with  the  distinctive  mark  -,  lo7ig,  or  ^ ,  short. 

6.  So  the  tonic  of  e  in  e-ve,  and  of  i  in  i-W,  is  organically  the 
same,  differing  only  in  quantity ;  numbered  and  marked  ac- 
cordingly. 

5.  The  same  of  e  in  there,  and  e  in  end. 

8.  The  same  of  a  in  d-o,  and  u  in  b-«-ll. 

9.  And  of  tt  in  «-rn,  and  u  in  u-s. 

We  have  in  the  above  scheme  nine  distinct  pure  tonic  ele- 
ments, whose  sound  is  monothongal ;  that  is,  capable  of  being 
produced  by  one  simple  process  of  articulation,  and  of  being 
prolonged  to  an  indefinite  time,  without  any  change  of  tone,  or 

serpent-like  sibilation.     Voice  without  breath  is  jiame  wiifiout 
fire! 


DIPHTHONGAL    SOUNDS.  35 

alteration  of  the  vocal  organs,  from  the  commencement  to  the 
close  of  its  sound. 

The  term  monothongal  is  used  in  contradistinction  to 

MIXED    OR   DIPHTHONGAL   TONICS, 

which  are 

Ai-\*        /-sle,        Ou-r,        Oi-\,         U-nion. 

The  above  two  lists  of  pure  and  mixed  tonics  contain  all  the 
tonic  sounds,  monothongal  and  diphthongal,  tliat  are  found  in 
our  language.! 

Of  course,  in  speaking  here  of  diphthongal  tonics.  I  discard 
the  grammatical  Ae&mt\on  of  a  diphthong:  for,  according  to 
that,  the  sound  of  oo,  as  in  ooze,  is  called  diphthongal,  whereas 
it  is  really  a  pure  tonic  element ;  it  is  the  sound  of  o  in  d-o.  In 
articulation,  a  diphthong  is  the  tinion  of  two  tonics,  in  which 
the  actual  utterance  of  each  takes  place :  the  radical,  or  com- 

4 

*  A-\q,  Ai-\. — The  authority  of  Dr.  Rush  is  in  favor  of  con  • 

4 

sidering  these  sounds  identical ;  that  is,  he  classes  the  a  in 
o-le  as  diphthongal ;  but  after  a  very  nice  examination  by  a 
good  ear,  I  think  a  distinct  sound  may  be  traced  in  di-A.,  from 
that  which  is  found  in  fa-de — in  pai-n,  from  pa-ne.  For 
this  reason  I  have  classed  them  as  separate  tonic  sounds ;  the 
one  pure,  the  other  mixed. 

t  It  is  necessary  to  observe,  that  in  adopting  the  nomen- 
clature of  the  elementary  sounds,  propounded  by  Dr.  Rush,  I 
have  thought  it  advisable  to  depart  in  some  instances  from  his 
arrangement  and  definition  of  those  sounds,  and  also  to  make 
additions  thereto.  I  mention  this,  that  that  learned  and  philo- 
sophical writer  may  not,  by  any  chance,  have  to  bear  the  impu- 
tation of  any  errors  which  may  appear  in  my  arrangement  or 
definition  of  those  elementary  sounds,  or  of  tlieir  power  and 
value  in  speech. 


36  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

mencing  sound,  being  different  from  that  wliich  is  heard  at  its 
dose  or  vanish, •  thus,  the  sound  of  the  na7ne  of  the  letter  ii,  (as 

6 

heard  in  the  word  z«-nion,)  is  compounded  of  the  e  in  e-ve  and 

8  6  8 

the  0  in  d-o :  that  is,  its  radical  (or  root)  is  e,  its  vanish  is  o, 

68 

making  eo,  or  ii,  as  in  w-nion. 

The  following  table  shows  at  one  view  the  whole  system  of 
Tonic  Elements,  pure  or  monothongal,  and  mixed  or  diph- 
thongal. 


TABLE 

OF 

TONIC     ELEMENTS. 


a-n 


Ml 


2 
a-rm 


7 
o-ld 


3 

a-t 


4 
a-le 


th-e-re 


e-nd 


d-O     b-M-U 


VOWEL  SIGNS. 


NO. 

for  reference 
to  the  above. 

I'- 

) 

3 

4 

5(- 

) 

EXAMPLES. 


h.?Lsfour  pure  tonics 
proper  to  itseltj  and< 
one  borrotced  or  com 
mon 

has  ^^/'ee  tonics — two  I 
pure  and  proper,  one  j 
borrowed  or  common  L 


has  ^Aree  tonics — two 
borroiced,  pure  ;  one 

mi>ec/or  diphth.(ui)  t 

has/o»7'  tonics — one  j 
pure  and  proper,  and  | 
three  borroiced.    .     .  [. 

i^  r 

has  ?^7-ee  tonics — one  I 
pure  and  prop^/',  one< 
borrowed,  one  mixed 


5(- 
5(w) 

6(-) 

9(-) 

6(-) 

6(w) 

9(u) 

fZipTi.  9.6. 


all — 'war — call — pall. 

arm — father — rather — card. 

at — ask — cat — apple — lap. 

ale — cane — ace. 

care — lair — mare — dare . 

^  ere — there — ne'er. 

^  end — bet — mess — ever, 
e  ve — me — fee — leave . 
err — learn — fern — mercy. 

i  f/end — f/eld — w^eld. 
\  i\\ — m — it — h'st. 
f/r — f/rst — th/rst. 
I — s?>h — mine — he. 


7  old — no — bold — go. 
!(•-')  ion — rot — for — lord — cough. 

8  (  -  )  do — whom — boot — fool. 


9(w) 

9(-) 
9(.) 

s(-) 

8(.) 


son — none — come — other. 

\  urn — b??rn — curd — purse. 
<  t(s — him — cict — bh«sh. 
)  true — rwde. 
b«ll — b»sh. 


or  diphthongal  (6.8.)  [  diph.  6.8.  \J— union— tune— duke. 


has  two  tonics,  both  I 
borrotced- — one  pure.  [ 
one  diphth.  (9.6) .     '.  J 

has  one  tonic  sound. 
borrowed 


6 
diph.  9.6j 


pity — army — nymph. 
Y — by — my — dye. 


8  (  -  )  ;no7C — coir — bou\ 


38  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

NOTES  ON  THE  MIXED  OR  DIPHTHONGAL  TONICS. 

1. — The  diphthongal  sound  of  i  has  been  by  some  writers  re* 

1  6         1 

solved  into  the  tonic  sounds  of  a  and  e ;  a  being  given  as  the 

6 

radical  or  opening,  and  e  as  the  vanish  or  close  of  the  sound. 

1     6 

But  this  combination  ( a  e )  would  produce  the  diphthongal 
Bound  oi,  as  in  voice  ;  which  is,  in  fact,  a  provincial  pronuncia- 
tion of  the  diphthongal  sound  of  i  (in  such  words  asjind,  mind, 
&c.)  prevalent  among  the  vulgar  in  some  of  the  northern  coun- 

16  16 

ties  in  England,  where  we  may  hear  fo tnd  for  find,  koind  for 

9  6 

kmd,  &-C.  The  true  radical  of  'i  is  u,  as  in  us,  and  its  vanish  e, 
as  in  eve.  This  will  be  manifest  by  articulating  these  two 
sounds,  separately  and  slowly  at  first,  and  gradually  blending 
them  by  a  closer  and  more  rapid  utterance,  till  the  two  tonics 
run  together,  and  are  lost  in  each  other,  thus : 

9  69  6969696         96 

u e  ;  u e  ;  u — e  ;  u-e  ;  u-e  ;  ue,  or  i'. 

U. — The  diphthongal  sound  of  u,  as  in  tinion,  tiine,  has  for  ita 

6  8 

radical,  e,  and  for  its  vanish,  o ;  that  is.  is  produced  by  the 

6  8 

blending  of  the  e.  in  eve,  with  the  o,  in  do,  thus : 

6  86  8         686868 

e o  ;  e o  ;  e — o  ;  c-o ;  eo  ;  ii. 

if. — The  diphthongal  sound  of  y,  as  in  by,  try,  is  resolvable 
into  the  same  elements  as  that  of  i,  as  above  given. 

W. — The  character  of  the  sound  of  this  sign,  as  in  the  above 
examples,  is  clearly  diphthongal,  though  its  elements  are  difficult 
to  trace  with  exactitude  ;  perliaps  its  radical  is  a,  its  vanish  o. 
This  sign  is  also  frequently  mute  in  its  diphthongal  figure,  as  in 
awe :  here  are  three  vowel  sig)is  with  one  elementary  sound,  viz. 


EXERCISE    ON    THE    TONICS.  39 

1  ^ 

the  tonic  sound  heard  m  all.     Again,  in  low,  the  w  is  mute,  and 

7  ^  IS 

also  in  boic  (arcus),  though  heard  in  the  verb  to  bore. 

We  shall  see  hereafter  the  sub-tonic  character  of  W  and  Y. 

4  6  _  ,  _ 

AI. — This  diphthong  is  composed  of  a  and  i,  as  in  pam,  ail, 

which  are  distinguishable  to  a  fine  ear  from  the  pure  tonic  in 

4  I 

ale,  pane.  &c. ;  but  the  distinction  is  really  very  slight — still  it 
exists. 

t  6 

OI — as  in  bow,  voice,  is  ai. 

OU — as  in  our,  out,  &c.,  is  of  a  complex  nature,  and  appears 
to  be  triph-thongal.     It  seems  to  my  ear  to  be  compounded  of 

2  18 

aou ;  but  I  am  not  quite  clear  as  to  its  elements.  For  reference 
to  the  eye,  I  shall  distinguish  it  thus,  ou.  (to  denote  its  triph- 
thongal  character,)  in  the  following 

EXERCISE  ON  THE  TONICS. 

1234  59 

All  art  as  nature  better  imderstood. 

3  3  561  4  *i"j1  -L^n 

And  that  there  is  all  nature  cries  aloud  through  ail 

9  9 

h6r  w5rks. 

14  6..  ..  fi  4 

All  pale  with  pain  he  fainted  in  the  place. 

3^  6  S9365 

And  Eve  in  Eden  ever  happy  there. 

666  669  66 

If  infidelity  first  victims  find. 

7  7  3  I  8 

Oh  holy  hope,  to  live  beyond  tlie  tomb. 

9  9  9 

The  wonder  and  the  worship  of  the  world. 


49  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

11  .•.  8  1  1  11 

For  fortune  frowned  upon  his  cause  forlorn. 

1  7  I 

The  torrent  roared  impetuous  in  its  coiuse. 

■?  7  1 

My  hoarseness  forces  me  to  stop  my  horse. 

7  7 

The  doors  are  open, 

And  the  smfeited  grooms  do  mock  then  charge 

7 

with  snores. 

8  9  t, 

Fiill  often  underrates  the  future  good. 

.•.   8        1  .:  3  .:   8 

Now  law  shall  bow  t  efore  the  power  of  arms. 

a 
Our  wounds  cry  out  for  help. 

9  9  7 

And  burning  bliishes  spread  o'er  all  her  cheek. 

Let  the  pupil  now  go  through  the  Table  of  Tonic  Sounds, 
giving  to  every  element  its  perfect  sound,  in  afidl,  loud  tone  of 
voice,  but  without  strain  or  painful  effort.  Thi.s,  more  than  any 
practice,  will  tend  to  strengthen  and  bring  out  his  voice  (see 
"  Vocal  Gymnastics")  ;  and  next,  let  him  go  carefully  through 
the  Exercise  on  tlie  Tonics,  until  he  shall  read  them  with  per- 
fect purity  of  tonic  sound.  The  careful  doing  of  this  at  the 
outset,  will  save  the  pupil  much  after-trouble  in  the  matter  of 
articulation. 

We  now  pass  to  the 

SUB  TONICS  (15)  — ATONICS  (10.) 


ELEMENTARY    SOUNDS. 


41 


TABLE  OF  SUBTONICS  AND  ATONICS. 


i 

1 

Subt.    At. 

Ors-anic  Formation. 

! 

E.vamples.       \ 

B     —  P 

Pure  labial 

B-ad.     P-ay. 

2 

D    —  T 

Lingua-dental  {tedh  dosed) 

D-ash.     T-ask. 

3 

G    —  K 

Palatine 

G-um.     K-ilL 

4 

V    —  F 

Labia-dental 

V-at.     F-ight. 

5 

z  —  s 

Dental  sibilants (<ee^A  open) 

Z-eal.     S-arae. 

6 

J     —  Ch 

Lingua-palatine  sibilant 

J-udge.  Ch-urch. 

7 

Zsh—  Sh 

Palatine  sibilant 

A-z-ure.     Sh-ame. 

8 

Th—  Th 

(.hard)     (soft) 

Lingua-dental  {teelh  open) 

Th-en.     Th-in : 

9 

Y    —  H 

Palatine  aspirates 

Y-et.     H-it. 

10 

w  —  \^ni 

Labial  aspirates 

W-ild.     Wh-en. 

11 

R    —    — 

Lingua-palatine  (vibrat'g) 

R-ome.     R-ide.       1 

12 

L    —    — 

Lingua-palatine 

L-uU.     L-ily.           j 

13 

M 

Xasal-labial 

;M-um.     }vl-ind.       I 

14 

N 

Nasal — lingua-palatine 

N-u-n.     N-o-w. 

15 

Ng 

Nasal — palatine 

E-ng-land.  Thi-ng. 

! 

OBSERVATIONS. 

It  will  be  obsen^ed  that  the  /1-tonics  have  each  their  appro- 
priate (Sz/fc-tonics.  to  which  they  belong,  and  of  which  they  are 
the  vanish,  or  last  fading  sound :  thus  B.  when  sounded,  after 
its  tone  or  vocality  ceases,  fades  into  P ;  D  into  T ;  G  {hard) 
into  K,  &c. ;  as  may  be  perceived  by  sounding  the  syllables 
Bah.  Did,  Gig,  &c. 

9  and  10. — Y  and  W.  when  initials,  lose  their  ywZZ  tonic  cha- 
racter, which  they  have  when  final ;  and  become  sub-tonic  as- 
pirates in  their  connection  with  a  succeeding  tonic,  as  in  ye, 


42  ART    CF    ELOCUTION. 

yet,  7fe.  icon.  When  w  is  ibllowed  by  an  h,  the  aspiration  is 
doubled,  as  ich-o,  wh-en.  n-Ji-y.  The  aspiration  is  made  by  the 
flow  of  breath — in  Y,  over  tlie  tongue — in  W,  through  the  pro- 
truded lips. 

Direction. — The  pupil,  or  teacher,  must  pay  particvilar  at- 
tention to  the  organic  formation  of  the  subtonics  and  atonies, 
as  it  will  enable  him  easily  to  correct  defects  of  articulation. 


EXERCISE 

ON   THE 

SUB-TONICS  AND  xY-TOMCS. 

1.  Black  bubbling  brooks  break  brawling  o'er  their  bounds. 
The  painted  pomp  of  pleasure's  proud  parade. 

2.  Decide  the  dispute  during  dhiner-time.  by  dividing  the  dif- 
ference. 

Tourists  thronged,  from  time  to  time,  to  traverse  the  Thames 
tunnel. 

3.  Gregory,  going  gaily,  galloped  gallantly  to  the  gate. 

Crazed  with   corroding  cares,    and   killed  with  consummg 
complaints. 

4.  Vanity  of  vanities,  and  all  is  vanity. 

Frank  Feron  flattered  his  friends,  but  failed  not  to  find  fault 
with  his  foes. 

5.  His  zeal  was  blazoned  from  zone  to  zone. 


ELEMENTARY    SOUNDS.  43 

Serpents  and  snakes  were  scattered  on  the  sea. 

6.  Judge  and  jury  adjourned  the  judgment. 

Chosen  champion  of  the  church,  he  cherished  her  children. 

7.  The  azure  sea  is  shining  with  ships,   that  shape  their 
course  for  home. 

8.  This  thread  is  thiimer  than  that  thistle  there. 

9.  Year  after  year  the  o'er-ripe  ear  is  lost. 
Ye  heard  him  hurr\-  yelling  o'er  your  head. 
Up  a  high  hill  he  heaved  a  huge,  hard  stone. 

10.  We  wildly  wish,  while  wiser  workmen  win  whate'er  will 
worth  reward. 

11.  And  rugged  rocks  re-echo  with  his  roar. 

12.  Lamely  the  lion  limped  along  the  lawn. 

13.  Many  men  of  many  minds,  mixing  in  miiltifarious  matters 
of  much  moment. 

14.  None  know  nor  need  to  know  his  name. 

15.  England's  king  lay  waking  and  thinking,  while  liis  sub- 
jects were  sleeping. 


VALUE  OF  THE  ELEMENTARY  SOUNDS. 

All  deficiencies  of  articulation  (not  proceeding  from 
organic  defect)  are  merely  an  imperfect  or  difficult  ut- 
terance of  the  elementary  sounds — tonics,  sub-tonics, 


44  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

and  atonies — of  which  our  language  is  composed ; 
for  it  is  manifest,  that  if  the  parts  be  perfect,  the  whole 
must  be  perfect  also  :  and  therefore,  if  our  articulation 
of  the  elemental  sounds  be  just,  our  articulation  of  all 
the  syllables  and  words  which  their  combination  forms 
must  also  be  just. 

What  is  lisping,  or  stammering  ?  An  imperfect  or 
faulty  utterance  of  certain  elemental  sounds.  Show 
the  person  who  lisps  or  stammers,  (always  excepting 
the  case  of  organic  defect,)  the  organic  process  of  ar- 
ticulation of  the  particular  sound  in  which  his  utter- 
ance is  imperfect,  and  make  him  practise  that  process 
of  articulation,  and  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  result ;  his 
defect,  if  not  organic,  will  be  removed,  and  he  will 
speak  clearly  and  distinctly. 

Slovenly  articulation  is  9)iis-sj}eUing  to  the  ear;  and 
is  as  great  a  blemish  to  speech  as  false  spelling  is  to  a 
written  letter :  one  fault  should  be  as  carefully  guard- 
ed against  as  the  other,  in  early  education.  This  can 
only  be  done  by  justly  distinguishing  between  the 
sig7i  and  the  sound,  and  practising  tlie  pupil  on  all 
the  elementary  sounds  of  which  his  language  is  com- 
posed, until  he  is  perfectly  master  of  them  in  all  their 
combinations. 

The  necessity  of  a  distinct  articulation  will  be  made 
apparent  at  once  by  reading  the  following 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  A  serio7/.9  man  was  never  before  giiilty  of  such  a  series  of 
follies;  in  which  every  species  of  absurdity  was  accompanied 
by  a  sTpecious  gravity,  which  rendered  it  infinitely  amusing. 


CARELESS    ARTICULATION.  45 

In  this  passage,  unless  the  syllables  ies  and  ious  be 
correctly  distinguished  by  the  reader,  in  the  words 
serious  and  series,  species  and  specious,  it  must  be 
quite  evident  that  confusion  and  uncertainty  will  re- 
sult to  the  hearer. 

2.  The  duke  paid  the  money  due  to  the  Jew  before  the  dew 
was  oflf  the  ground ;  and  the  Jeic,  having  duly  acknowledged  it, 
said  adieu  to  the  duke  for  ever. 

This  example  may  help  to  correct  a  carelessness 
very  common — that  of  confounding  the  consonants  d 
and  j  when  followed  by  the  sound  of  w,  a  process 
which  changes  adieu  into  a  jew,  duke  into  juke,  (fcc. 
"  That's  villainous  ;"  "  reform  it  altogether," 

A  ludicrous  instance  of  this  kind  of  carelessness  oc- 
curred to  me  in  a  town  in  one  of  the  northern  counties 
of  England.  I  was  looking  at  some  apartments  which 
were  shown  to  me  by  the  landlady  of  the  house. 
They  did  not  exactly  suit  me,  and  I  said  so.  She, 
•with  all  the  hauteur  of  a  disappointed  and  irritated 
proprietress,  replied,  "  Well,  sir,  then  you  can  shoot 
yourself  elsewhere^''  I  took  my  leave,  assm'ing  her 
that  I  had  no  such  suicidal  intention.  However,  I 
followed  the  advice  she  meant  to  give,  and  did  suit 
myself  elsewhere. 

How  commonly  do  we  hear,  in  ordinary  conversa- 
tion, 

A  p'tikHur  man,  instead  of  a  par-tic-u-lar  man. 
A  fai/e  error,  for  fa-t«Z  error. 
A  p7<reon  of  ememmce,  for  per-son  of  em-i-nence. 
Voilet  or  wieiut,  for  vi-o-let,  «S:c 


46  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

To  correct  these,  and  similar  errors  of  articulation, 
arising  from  a  careless  utterance  of  the  elementary 
sounds,  the  tables  of  articulation  in  the  '-Practice," 
at  the  end  of  the  System,  are  prepared  for  the  reader. 
Their  object  is,  by  frequent  practice,  to  give  a  habit 
of  clear  articulation  of  certain  sounds,  syllables,  and 
combinations  that  are  generally  slurred  over. 

In  practice,  I  find  the  greatest  carelessness  prevail- 
ing in  the  utterance  of  the  following  sounds,  which  I 
therefore  single  out  for  exercise — the  numerals  indica- 
ting the  required  sound  have  reference  to  the  Table 
of  Tonic  Elements. 

3  3        . 

a. — The  tonic  sound  of  o,  as  in  at,  in  the 

SYLLABLES  AND  TERMINATIONS 

a\ — ant — able 
or — ance — ative. 


EXAMPLES. 


Articulate — 
fatal,  .  . 
particular, 
arrogant, 
arrogance, 
honorable, 
restorative. 


not  fa-iZe. 

not  p?fr-tic-u-h«r. 

not  ar-ro-gitnt. 

not  ar-ro-g?tnce. 

not  hon-o-n/6/>le. 

not  res-to-rtttive. 


fa-toZ,  .  .  . 
par-tic-u-lar, . 
or-ro-gant,  . 
or-ro-gance,  . 
hon-o-rable,  . 
res-to-ra-tive, 

[See  Table  of  Articulation,  No.  1.] 

]>jo'rE. — The  indefinite  article  a  should  never  have  the  long 

4 

slender  sound  of  the  vov^rel,  as  in  ale,  but  the  open  sound,  as  in 
at.     It  is  exceedingly  bad,  (and  at  the  same  tune  very  com- 

4  4 

men,)  to  say,  a  man,  a  book. 


ARTICULATION — TONIC  SOUNDS.  47 

5  5 

e. — The  short  sound  of  e,  as  m  met,  in  the 

TERMINATIONS 

el — et — ent — ence — ess — ety. 

EXAMPLES. 

Articulate — 

rebel,  .     .     .     reb-e^,     .     .     .    not  veh-ble. 

sarcenet,  .     .     sarse-net,    ,    .    not  sarse-nrtt,  nor  sarse-mt. 

prudent,  .     .     pru-dewt,      .     .     not  pru-dwnt. 

prudence,     .    pru-dence,    .     .    not  pru-dimce. 

contentedness,  con-tent-ed-ne5s,  7iot  con-ten-ted-nr«5. 

sobriety,  .     .     so-bri-efj^,    .     .     not  so-hri-utty. 

[See  Table  No.  2.] 

p 
er. — The  borrowed  sound  of  the  e  joined  to  the  hquid  r, 

making  the  syUable  er. 

This  sound  is  between  the  e  in  met  and  the  u  in  curl.  It  is  a 
vulgarity  to  sound  verse  as  vz<rse,  mercy  as  mz/rcy. 

The  correct  sound  of  e  is  attained  by  striking  the  accent 
lightly,  and  without  dwelling  on  the  er ;  whereas,  in  ur,  as  in 
curd,  the  sound  is  more  open,  and  heavier. 

[^ee  Table  No.  4.] 

Note. — The  definite  article  the  must  never  have  the  long 

6 

sound  of  e,  as  in  thee,  except  before  a  vowel  or  a  silent  h. 


i. — The  short  sound  oft,  as  in  sin,  ci-ty.  in  the 

TERMINATIONS 

tn — ity — il-ity — etive — ible,  and  others  of  similar  form. 


48 


ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 


EXAMPLES. 


Articulate — 

province,  .     . 

.    prov-i?ice,  . 

.    not 

prov-ence. 

capacity,  .     , 

.     ca-pa-ci-ty. 

.    not 

ca-pa-ce-ty 

ability, .     .     . 

.     Si-hi\-i-ty,   . 

.    not 

a-bil-e-ty. 

lenitive,     .     . 

.    len-i-tive,  . 

.    not 

len-e-teve. 

plausible,  .     . 

.    plaus-i-ble, 

.    not 

plaus-e-ble 

[See  Table  No.  3.] 
ir. — The  borrowed  sound  of  i  joined  to  the  liquid  r,  maldng 

9  9 

the  syllable  tr  distinct  from  ur,  as  in  sir,  which  is  a  Ughter  and 
closer  sound  than  cur. 

Virtue  must  not  be  called  vwrtue.  nor  third  thi/rd.  &c. 

[See  Table  No.  4.] 


1  1 

o> — The  full  and  round,  open  sound  of  o  in  the 

SYLLABLES 

o — o  w — (unaccented. ) 


EXAMPLES. 

Articulate — 

opinion,     .     . 
potato,      .    . 
fellow,  .    .    . 
innovate,  .    . 

.     o-pin-ion,    .     . 
.    po-ta-to,      .     . 
.     fel-lo,      .     .     . 
.     in-no-fate,  .     . 

.     not    up-p'in-ion. 
.    not    put-ta-ta. 
.     not     fel-Ia. 
.     not    in-mtu-ate. 
[See  Table  No.  5.J 

or. — The  intermediate  sound  of  o.with  r  in  the  termination  or, 
unaccented,  which  must  be  kept  distinct  from  ur. 


ARTICULATION TONIC    SOUNDS. 


49 


Articulate — 
orator,  .     . 
conspirator, 


EXAMPLES. 

or-a-tor,     .     . 
con-spi-ra-tor, 


not    or-a-tr<r. 

7iot    con-spir-a-tMr,  &c. 


u. — The  diphthongal  sound  of  u.  like  iu.  as  in  pwre,  has  the 
same  sound  as  ieic  in  v-ieu\  in  the  following 

SYLLABLES  AND  TERMINATIONS : 

ue — uit — iide — uce — use — uke — ume — une — ure,  (ac- 
cented)— ual — unar — ular — uble. 


EXAMPLE 

s. 

Articulate — 

due,  .     .     . 

.    diew,    .    . 

.       7lOt 

doo. 

duty.      .     . 

.     di';^ty,    .     . 

.    not 

dooty. 

conclude,    . 

.     concl^ifd.  . 

.     not 

conclood. 

produce, 

.    prodeti-ce. . 

.    not 

prodooce. 

duke,      .    . 

.     diwke,  .     . 

.    not 

dook. 

presume,     . 

.    presMtme, . 

.    not 

presoome. 

tune. .     .     . 

.    ttune,    .    . 

.    not 

toone,  &c. 

See  Table  No.  6.] 

EXCEPTIONS. 

When  any  of  the  above  terminations  are  compounded  with 
r;  and  when  ure  is  compounded  with  s.  as  in  sure,  and  its  de- 
rivations, in  which  cases  the  pure  tonic  sound  of  the  ii  prevails, 
c 


50 


ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 


like  00  in  poor,  but  less  broad  somewhat,  and  more  rapidly  ac- 
cented, as 


ruler,  .    . 

rooler. 

truce, 

troose. 

true,  .    . 

troo. 

abstruse, 

abstroose. 

ruin,   .    . 

room. 

swre, .     .     . 

shoor. 

protrwtZe, . 

protroode. 

insure,    . 

inshoor. 

ruminate, 

7-oominate. 

assurance,  . 

ashoorance,  &c 

l^See  Table  of  Exceptions.'] 


DOUBLE   VOWEL    SOUNDS. 

must  be  carefully  distinguished  from  diphthongal  sounds,  and 
the  sound  of  each  vowel  be  duly  given,  as 

ea,  as  in  area  (air-f/-a.) 

ies,  as  in  species  (^speeshy-es.)  series  (seery-es.) 

io,   as  in  violate  (t^-o-late.)  vi-o-lence,  &c. 

Having  gone  through  the  Tables  of  Practice  in  the  above 
sounds,  let  the  reader  practise  the  Contrast  Tables,  to  make 
the  distinction  between  them  clearer  to  the  ear. 

The  above  terminations  and  syllables  are  those  on 
which  the  greatest  carelessness  exists  in  the  articula- 
tion of  the  tonic  sounds,  and  therefore  I  have  selected 
them  for  practice  ;  bitt  it  is  equally  necessary  to  ob- 
serve the  due  sounds  of  the  tonics,  whether  they  occur 
in  commencing,  middle,  or  terminating  syllables. 

In  reading  the  tables,  be  particular  first  to  get  the 
correct  tonic  sound  of  the  vowel,  as  given  in  the  key- 
word, and  bear  in  mind  that  articulation  of  a  sound 


PRONinv'CIATION.  51 

does  not  impl3^  accentuation  of  the  syllable  ;  that  is 
part  of 

PRONUNCIATION. 

Pronunciation  distinguishes  the  educated  gentleman 
from  the  vulgar  and  unpolished  man. 

Pronunciation  is  made  up  of  articulation  and  ac- 
centuation ;  when  both  are  perfect,  the  individual  has 
a  correct  and  elegant  pronunciation. 

Custom,  as  Horace  has  truly  said,  '•  arbitrium  est 
et  jus  et  norma  loquendi" — custom  is  the  arbiter  and 
criterion  of  what  is  correct  in  speech  ;  but  then  it 
is  the  custom  of  the  polite  and  elegant  part  of  the 
world,  (not  of  the  mere  vulgar,)  that  must  guide  us  ; 
and  of  which  the  Roman  poet,  writing,  as  he  did,  to 
the  cultivated  intellects  of  the  Augustan  age,  must  be 
miderstood  to  speak. 

The  custom  of  vulgar  thousands  cannot  sanctify 
their  errors  ;  nor  can  the  daily  practice  of  thousands 
change  folly  into  wisdom,  any  more  than  it  can  cor- 
rupt 

mischievous  to  mischiev'-ous,  or  ev'-ious, 

horrible  to  horrable, 

yellow  to  yallow, 

wounds  (woonds)  to  woM?nds,  ^ 

swoon  to  s\vow7id, 

or  give  authority  to  any  similar  improprieties. 

The  pulpit,  the  senate,  and  the  bar,  ought,  from  the 
advantages  of  education  generally  possessed  by  their 
members,  and  from  their  social  position,  to  be   the 


5^ 


ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 


Standard  authorities  to  which  we  might  appeal  with 
certainty,  (for  our  language  is  continually  undergo- 
ing change,  addition,  and  improvement ;)  but,  unfor- 
tunately, the  gentlemen  of  the  learned  professions  are 
frequently  so  careless  in  their  own  pronunciation  as 
rather  to  require  admonition,  {inedice,  sana  teipsiim,) 
than  to  be  looked  to  as  authorities  ;  so  that  they  may, 
(from  their  own  inaccuracies)  be  considered  a  Court 
of  Errors,  but  not  of  Appeal.  We  must,  therefore, 
rely  upon  such  lights  as  we  have,  and  the  assistance 
of  those  who,  well  educated  in  other  respects,  make 
their  own  language  their  particular  study. 

The  following  are  a  few  very  common  examples, 
(which  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  correct,)  of 

ERRONEOUS    PRONUNCIATION, 

by  mal-articulation  or  false  accentuation. 

OMISSION    OF    SUB-TONICS    OR   ATONICS. 

g"  in  ing;  as  in  com/?t'  for  coming,  speakj'n'  for  speaking-,  &c. 
ts  in  sts,  as  insis'  for  insis^  persis'  for  persists,  &c. 

OMISSION    OF   A    MIDDLE    OR    DOUBLE    SUB-TONIC. 

m  in  ram,  as  imaculate  for  im-maculate,  &c. 
n  in  nen,  as  proness,  for  prone-ness,  &c. 

FALSE   ACCENTUATION. 


ar'-o-ma   .  for  a-ro'-ma 

in'-vite .     .  Jbr  in-vite' 

en'-quiry  .  for  in-qui'-ry 

as  pir-ant  for  as-pi'-rant 

adver'-ti«  .  for  ad'-ver-twe 


ab'-domen.  for  abdo'-men 

cn-gi'ne    .  for  en'-gine 

fi '-nance    .  for  fi-nan'ce 

i'-dea    .     .  for  i-de'-a 

opp'oncnt .  for  op-po'-nent 


ERRONEOUS    PRONUNCIATION. 


53 


per'-fume  (v.)/o/'  per-fu'me 
per-fu'me  (n.)for  per'-fume 
pre-ce'-dent(n.)^orpre'-ce-dent 
pre'-ce-dent(adj.)  "  pre-ce'-dent 


mischie'v-ous^or  mis'-chiev-ous 
adverti'se-mcnt  •■  adver'-tisment 
se-Tee-s(^senes)for  see-ry-es,  &c. 


REFINEMENTS   IN   PRONUNCIATION. 

The  syllables  car,  gar,  and  gtiar,  are,  in  polite  and  refined 
pronunciation,  softened  thus : 

car  is  made  kya'r,  as  kyart  (cart.)  kyar-pet  (carpet.) 

gar  and  guar,  gya'r,  as  g-ya'rd  (guard.)  ^^a'rden  (garden,)&c. 

Also,  before  a  long  and  accented  i  or  y,  the  letter  k  makes 
key,  as  keyi'nd  (kind.)  skey-i'  (skj',)  &c. 

Such  are  a  few  points  which  I  particularly  notice, 
because  it  is  in  them  that  errors  most  prevail.  The 
nature  of  this  book  does  not  pretend  to  go  into  the 
whole  theory  of  pronunciation  :  my  object  is,  practi- 
cally to  correct  certain  prevalent  faults  of  articulation 
and  pronunciation. 

[(See  Practice  on  Pronunciation.'] 


54 


ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 


PRACTICE.— FIRST  DIVISION. 


TABLES  OF  ARTICULATION. 

TONIC    SOUNDS. 
112  34  5568 

a-11 — 6-n — a-rm — a-i — a-le — th-e-re — e-nd — e-ve — «-ll- 

7  8  S  9  9 

0-ld — d-0 — b-M-U — u-rn — us. 
TABLE    I. 


a. — The  tonic  sound  of  a,  as  in  at,  in  the 

TERMINATIONS 


al 

fk-ial 

na-tai 

mor-ta7 

pas-ca/ 

his-to-ri-caZ 

pas-to-raZ 

mus-i-caZ 

su-i-ci-daZ 

hom-i-ci-daZ 

pic-to-ri-aZ 


a»t  —  ance 

,.  ^  n««t 

dis-so-  < 

I  nance 

^  nant 
con-so- < 

^  nance 

gant 
ga?ice 

(  gance 
int 
ancc 
tem-per-a»ce 
re-h-ance 
de-fi-ance 
va-ri-ance 


-TO-     I  '^ 

.  \  -> 

(  a? 


el-e 
tol-er 


ar 

ar-tic-vi-lar 

o-rac-u-lar 

au-ric-u-lar 

par-tic-u-Iar 

per-pen-dic- u-Iar 

joc-u-lar 

mus-cu-lar 

ve-hic-u-lar 

con-su-Iar 

in-su-lar 


TABLES    OF    ARTICULATION. 


55 


a-cy  —  a-Sive 

im-per-a-tive 

m-dic-a-tive 

pal-Ii-a-tive 

purg-a-tive 

pre-rog-a-tive 

res-tor-a-tive 

lax-a-tive 

pro-vo-ca-tive 

pi-ra-cy 

con-spir-a-cy 


a-ble 

a-mi-a-ble 

]ion-or-a-ble 

res-pect-a-ble 

in-val-u-a-ble 

nav-ig-a-ble 

reas-on-o-ble 

a-vail-a-ble 

sale-a-ble 

re-mark-a-ble 

ter-min-a-ble 


TABLE  II. 


e. — The  short  sound  of  e,  as  in  -met,  in  the 


pru-dent-ence 
em-i-ne«t-e?ice 


TERMINATIONS 

eiat  —  ence 

in-con-ti-ne«t  -  eiice     eom-iio-lent  -  ence 
dif-fi-de«t-  e?zce  im-per-ti-nent-  ence. 


ess 
prone-ne.^s 
bless-ed-nes5 
cost-U-ness 
laz-i-ness 
con-tent-ed-ness 
su-pine-ness 


ety 

pi-ety 

so-bri-ety 

sa-ti-ety 

so-ci-ety 

con-tra-ri  ety 

va-ri-ety 


et 

par-a-pet 

vi-o-le^ 

mar-ti-nef 

sar-ce-nef 

tab-i-nef 

cor-o-ne< 


56 


ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 


TABLE   III. 


G 


j. — The  short  sound  of  i,  as  in  sin,  city. 

TERMINATIONS. 


ity 

ami-a-b/1-ity 

res-pon-si-bil-ity 

affa-bil-ity 

hos-ttl-?!ty 

du-ph'-city 

di-vm-ity 


£E>Ie 

feas-i-ble 

plau-sj'-ble 

di-vis-i-ble 

n's-i-ble 

in-com-pat-i-ble 

ter-ri-ble 


i-tive 

len-i-tive 
in-fin-i-tive 

sen-si-tive 

de-fin-i-tive 

in-qu2-si-tive. 


TABLE    IV. 


er-ir. — The  borrowed  sounds  of  e  and  i,  joined  to  r,  mak- 
ing  er  and  zr,  as  in  her,  sir,  distinct  from  the  sound  of  ur,  as  in 
cur,  curl. 

Read  the  following  table  across  m  triple  column. 


ca* 

ir 

ur 

verse, 

ftrst. 

CMrst. 

mercy, 

thirsty, 

dwrst. 

per-verted, 

vir-tue. 

bj^rsting. 

revert. 

shirt. 

p?^rsed. 

pert, 

dirty, 

nwrsehng. 

heard, 

bird. 

word. 

early, 

firmly. 

bwrly. 

preferred. 

third, 

stwrdy. 

Note. — This  distinction  is  easily  made  by  making  the  er  and 
ir  shorter  and  lighter,  (by  dwelling  less  upon  them  in  utter- 
ance, and  accenting  them  more  rapidly,)  than  ur,  which  has  a 
broader  and  more  open  sound. 


TABLES    OF    ARTICULATION. 


57 


TABLE    V. 

7      7 

o-ow. — The  full  and  round  sound  of  the  vowel  o,  (as  in 
low,)  in  the  vowel  o  and  diphthong  ow,  unaccented. 


potato, 

foU'oti', 

vvill'oiP, 

foU'ow-ingj 

o-pinion, 

fallow, 

bill'oui, 

bell'ow-ing. 

o-vation, 

fell'ow. 

pill'ou', 

mell'ow-ing, 

in-no-vate. 

mell'ow. 

hoU'ow. 

pill'oiced. 

per-o-ration. 

hoU'owed. 

TABLE    VI. 


u. — The  diphthongal  sound  of  m,  (eu,)  as  in  pure. 


uce 
use 
like 

pro-d?fce. 

ab-z6se. 

duke. 

re'f-zfse. 

ob-t«se. 

re-dwce. 

dif-fi<se. 

re-bwke. 


SYLLABLES  AND  TERMINATIONS. 


ual 

lime 

ne 

iiuar 

line 

uit 

ular 

lire 

iide 

uble 

pres?<me. 

due — duty. 

hf-nar. 

tune. 

suit. 

con-sw-lar. 

en-d«re. 

ex-ude. 

voI-i(-ble. 

al-h/re. 

pre-ch;de. 

joc-M-lar. 

for'-titne. 

pur-s?(e. 

an-n?(-al. 

con-s2<me. 

con-chide. 

rit-M-al. 

im-por-tt<ne. 

im-bwe. 

for-mzi-la. 

re-htme. 

pur-suit. 

sin'g-zt-lar. 

EXCEPTIONS  TO  TABLE  VI. 

When  any  of  the  above  syllables  are  compounded  with  rj  in 

8 

which  cases  the  pure  tonic  sound  of  the  ?/,  like  oo  in  poor,  pre- 
vails, as  in  trite,  as  : 
c* 


58 


ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 


tn/ce. 

ab-st/n/se. 

pro-t?-«dc. 

7'!<-Tninate. 

r?4-mour. 


as-su.-Tai\ce. 
insured. 
im-brjfed. 
ru-in. 


trzi-ism. 

ru-ler. 

ruie-ly. 

crwde-ly. 

in-tru-ding. 


8 

And  when  lire  is  preceded  by  s,  it  makes  shoore. 


CONTRAST     TABLES. 


To  render  the  distinction  between  the  above  sounds  clearer 
to  the  ear,  read  the  following  Tables  in  double  column  for  con- 
trast, giving  the  vowel  sounds  to  each,  as  in  the  preceding  Ta- 
bles. 


a-tive 

imper-ative, 

iax-ative, 

indic-ative, 

deriv-ative, 

restor-ative, 


i-tive 

len-itive. 

sen-s!-tive. 

in-fin-itive. 

defin-itive. 

inquis-itive. 


ant 

arro-gant, 

conso-nant, 

ele-gttnt, 

toler-ant, 

disso-nant, 

rele-vant, 

cormo-rant, 


eiit 

con-ti-nent. 

somno-lent. 

emi-nent. 

diffi-dent. 

dili-gent. 

pru-dent. 

immi-nent. 


able 

reason-able, 

navig-able, 

avail-able, 

respect-able, 

termin-ablc, 

valu-able, 

calcul-able, 

season-able, 


ible 

plaus-ible. 

divid-ible. 

feas-ible. 

incompat-ible. 

ter-r(ble. 

een-sible. 

intelli-gible. 

discern-ible. 


ess 
prone-ness, 
snpine-«fs.s, 
lazi-??ess; 
costli-?iess, 
blessed-?jess. 


multitudi-no2<5. 
opprobri-oiAJ. 
glori-0U6\ 
graci-o?ts. 


contented-Jiess,    desir-o?<5. 
zealoMs-?jess,       labori-oz^. 
abstemio2ts-?i€ss,  magnitudi-noiw. 


TABLES    OF    ARTICITLATION. 


5d 


68 

8 

68 

8 

It 

n 

n 

n 

duke 

book 

cons!<me 

insure 

reb?ike 

undertook 

dikte 

intrude 

prodt«;e 

abstruse 

duplicate 

trooper 

prechide 

protn^de 

endurance 

assurance 

denude 

n<de 

concision 

obtrusion 

volttble 

quadr(<ple 

ablution 

intrusion 

pursi^ 

constriie 

circular 

r^ler 

or 

ar 

i-ty 

e-ty 

or-a-tor 

par-ticu-lar 

abil-ity 

soci-ety 

conspira-tor 

insu-lar 

viril-!ty 

sobri-ety 

counsel-lor 

consu-lar 

mortal-/ty 

sati-ety 

composi-tor 

rauscu-lar 

dupli-ci'ty 

contrari-ety 

appari-tor 

oracu-lar 

infin-ity 

vari-ety 

Bena-tor 

jocu-lar 

docil-tty 

pi-ety 

moni-tor 

auricu-lar 

ate 

et 

io— ies 

ia— OB— ions 

vindi-cate 

para-pef 

vi-ol 

vi'-al 

predi-ca^e 

marti-ne^ 

vi-o-let 

void-ance 

vio-late 

vio-\et 

vi-o-lence 

v?-a-duct 

adjudi-cafe 

tabi-ne^ 

vi-o-lable 

vi-a-ry 

poten-tafe 

sarce-nei 

se-ri-es 

ee-ri-oiis 

prel-ctie 

coTo-net 

spe-ci-es 

spe-ci-ou9 

60  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 


PRACTICE  ON  PRONUNCIATION. 

(See  page  51.) 

The  vi-Q-let  hloovci-ing  on  the  dew-y  ground  fills 
the  air  with  its  per'-fwrnes,  and  the  in-wo-cent  lily^ 
amidst  the  gaudier  flowe/-s  of  the  gar-den,  is  an  em- 
blem of  VLndiSsum-ing  modesty,  remain-m^  unpol-h<- 
ted  and  uncontam-i-nated  by  the  van-t-ties  and  vices 
of  the  world. 


Honor  was  the  vir-Uie  of  the  Paga/^ ;  but  Chris- 
ti-an-ity  teaches  a  more  enlarged  and  a  nobler  code — 
csdl-ing  into  activ-ity  all  the  best  feel-ings  of  our  na- 
ture— il'\u'ini?ig  our  path  through  this  world  with 
deeds  of  mer-cy  and  char-//y,  mutual- ly  done  and 
received — and  sustain-iw^  u.s  amidst  difficulties  and 
temptations,  by  the  hope  of  a  glorious  immortal-tVy, 
in  which  peace  shall  be  invi-o-la61e  and  joy  e-Xeriial. 


Thirst,  hunger,  and  nakeo?-ness  are  ills  inci-de?it  to 
hu-man-t^y,  which — however  sec//re  we  may  at  pre- 
se?it  pre-swme  ourselves  to  be  from  them — we  may 
one  day  be  reduced  to  experi-ewce.  Let  us,  therefore, 
not  abt/5e  prosper-^Yy,  that  we  may  not  bs  ter-ri-fied 
at  ad-ver-sity. 


As  I  walked  in  the  gar-den    I  suddenly  heard  the 
noise  of  the  en'gine.     Lookiw  o-  round,  I  observed  the 


PRACTICE    0^{    FRONUA'CJATIOM.  61 

cars  approaching",  and  the  ide'-a  iiista?i^ly  struck  me 
that  you  might  be  in  one  of  them,  and  that  you  were 
com-i7i^  on  a  mi's-chiev-ous  design  ;  especially  as  you 
had  not  previously  ad'-ve7-tised  me  of  your  intention. 


The  are-a  gate  was  open,  and  I  observed  the  ser- 
va?it  in  a  yeMow  dress  standm^  before  the  door. 


The  pre'-ce-c?e?i^  relied  on  was  decided  when  Madi- 
son was  Pre5-i-dent ;  but  that  was  pre-ce'-dent  to  the 
pass-i??g  of  the  act  of  Congress,  and,  of  course,  an  act 
of  the  Legis-la-t2/7"e  takes  prece'de?ice  of  a  pre'-ce-deztt, 
however  solemn,  and  by  whatever  author-tty  it  may 
be  supported. 


After  a  se-ri-es  of  wet  days,  the  sky  became  clear  ; 
the  garden  looked  beautiful :  and,  as  the  cars  were 
ready,  I  conc^?^-ded  to  go  to  Philadelphia,  where  I  pre- 
S7fmed  I  might  see  you  without  bei?ig  thought  guilty 
of  intrw-sion. 


The  vi-o-lence  of  his  dis-po-sition  will  one  day  lead 
him  into  danger  and  difficulty.  He  has  already  fought 
a  du-el ;  he  is  a  reb'eZ  against  pa-ren-ta7  authority ; 
his  principaZ  occupation  is  pleasure  ;  his  princi-plejf 
are  unfixed,  and  the  pur-s?a75  in  which  he  delights 
lead  him  into  so-ci-ety  fa-tal  to  his  respecta-bil-ity. 
His  prone-?iess  to  play  is  very  preju-diciaZ  to  his 
health  and  happi-ness :  liis  fi-nan'ces  are  low,  and 
his  credit  is  shaken. 


62  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 


SECOND  DIVISION. 

PART  I. 

Elocution,  as  an  art,  is  imitative  ;  it  copies,  it 
mimics — as  it  were — the  inflections,  tones  and  varia- 
tions of  the  voice  in  ordinary  unrestrained  speech. 
As  a  science,  its  rules — which  are  drawn  from  obser- 
vation of  these  natural  tones,  inflections  and  varia- 
tions— teach  us  to  invest  the  language  of  others,  or 
our  own  pre-meditated  and  pre- written  eff'usions,  with 
the  same  variations  of  voice,  inflection  and  tone,  as 
we  should  use,  were  they  the  spontaneous  and  ex' 
tem,po7'e  outpourings  of  our  immediate  thoughts  and 
feelings.  And,  as  in  rhetoric  we  acquire  a  good  habit 
or  style  of  composition^  by  a  study  and  analysis  of 
the  styles  and  compositions  of  others  ; — so,  in  Elocu- 
tion, we  acquire  an  easy  habit  or  style  of  delivery^ 
by  exercising  oiuselves  in  giving  voice  and  expres- 
sion to  the  language  and  sentiments  of  others  ; — till, 
from  practice,  what  we  have  done  continually  by 
rule  and  art,  in  set  and  studied  speech,  we  execute  at 
last  easily  and  naturally,  in  spontaneous  and  original 
eff'usions.  After  mere  distinctness  of  articulation,  and 
correctness  of  promniciation,  this  is  {he  first  object  of 
Elocution, — to  read  and  speak  easily  and  naturally. 


RHETORICAL    PAUSE.  Q3 

And  this  we  acquire  by  the  following 

PRINCIPLES : 
1.  PAUSE.— 2.  INFLECTION.— 3.   EMPHASIS. 


1.  PAUSE. 

RHETORICAL  PAUSES. 

The  grammatical  pauses  which  are  addressed  to 
the  eye  of  the  reader  are  insufficient  for  the  speaker ; 
who  addresses  himself  to  the  understanding  "  through 
the  porches  of  the  ear."  He  requires  more  frequent 
stopping-places,  at  more  equal  intervals,  and  of  better 
regulated  proportionate  duration ;  both  for  his  own 
ease  and  relief,  to  enable  him  to  acquire  fresh  impetvs 
on  his  journey  ;  and  for  the  convenience  of  those  who 
follow  his  steps,  that  they  may  be  able  with  facility 
to  keep  in  his  track. 

We  have,  therefore,  rhetorical  pauses,  which  are 
independent  of,  (though  consistent  with,  and  assist- 
ant to,)  the  grammatical  pauses.  It  is  essential  that 
the  doctrine  of  rhetorical  pause  should  be  distinctly 
understood  ;  as  it  not  only  marks  the  proper  division 
of  thought,  and  the  condition  and  relation  of  one  part 
of  the  sense  to  another,  but  its  practice  is  indispensable 
to  the  perfect  effect  of  the  orator  :  without  it,  he  must 
totter  and  stumble  through  every  long  and  intricate 
sentence  with  pain  to  himself  and  his  auditory  :  with 
its  aid,  his  movements  become  regular,  certain,  and 
easy. 


64  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

To  prove  this,  let  the  student  read  aloud  the  two 
following  sentences  according  to  the  grammatical 
pauses  marked  in  the  punctuation. 

Read  : 

1.  Nothing  is  more  prejudicial  to  the  great  interests  of  a  na- 
tion than  unsettled  and  varying  poUcy. 

Observe  that  in  this  sentence  there  is  no  grammat- 
ical pause. 

2.  The  people  of  the  United  States  have  justly  supposed 
that  the  policy  of  protecting  their  industry  against  foreign  leg- 
islation and  foreign  industry  was  fully  settled,  not  by  a  single 
act,  but  by  repeated  and  dehberate  acts  of  government,  per- 
formed at  distant  and  frequent  inter^'als. 

If  in  the  reading  of  this  sentence,  we  adopt  the 
grammatical  pauses  only,  our  delivery  (especially  of 
the  opening  part  of  the  sentence  up  to  the  first  com- 
ma) will  be  embarrassed,  uncertain,  and  indistinct. 
We  shall  presently  see  how  easy  it  will  become  by 
the  introduction  of  the  rhetorical  pauses,  in  addition 
to,  and  in  aid  of  the  common  ones. 

I  adopt /oz^r  rhetorical  jjauses,  viz. 

1.  The  short  Pause,  thus  marked  "^j  equal,  in  duration  of  time, 
to  the  Quaver-Rest  in  music. 

2.  The  middle  Patcse,  "'-,  double  the  time  of  the  short  pause. 

3.  The  liest,  — ,  or  full  pause,  double  the  viiddle  pause,  and 
equal  to  the  Minim  liest  in  music. 

4.  The  long  Pause,  I,  double  that  of  the  rest,  and  equal  to 
the  Bar  Rest  in  music. 

Of  all  these,  the  first,  or  short  pause  ^,  is  of  the 


RKETOIlxCAI.    PAUSE. 


65 


greatest  importance,  on  account  of  its  confinval  use, 
and  its  great  assistance  and  relief  to  the  orator, — 
being  rather  in  the  nature  of  a  suspension  of  the 
breath,  than  an  absokite  pause. 


RULES  FOR  PAUSE. 


1.    SHORT    PAUSE. 

The  short  Pause,  or  quaver-rest  ",  is  iiscd  generally 

f    1.  The  nowinatice  phrase;  that  i?,  several  words 
composing  one  phrase,  and  standing  as  the 
nominative  to  some  verb. 
After      -i    2.  The  objective  phrase,  in  an  incerted  sentence. 

3.  The  emphatic  ivord  of  force ;  and  the  subject 
of  a  sentence. 

4.  Each  member  of  a  series. 

5.  The  infinitive  mood. 

6.  Prepositions  (except  when  part  of  one  phrase.) 
Before    \    7.  Relative  Pronouns. 

8.  Conjunctions. 

9.  Adverbs  of  time,  similitude,  and  some  others. 
10.  Oil  an  Ellipsis. 


EXAMPLES. 


1.  The  passions  of  mankind "'  Irequentlj-  blind  them. 

2.  By  the  violence  of  passion'^  we  are  frequently  blinded. 

3.  Well  honor"^  is^'  the  subject  of  my  story. 

4.  Charity"'  joy"  peace^  patience^  &c. 


66  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

5.  f      It  is  prudent^  in  every  man"^  to  make  early  provision*^ 

6.  I  against  the  wants  ofage^  and  the  chances  of  accident. 

7.  f      Nations'^  like  men''  fail  in  nothing"  which  they  boldly 

8.  <  attempt"  when  sustained"'  by  virtuous  purpose*^  and  firm 

9.  '  resolution. 

10.  A  people  once  enslaved"  may  groan"  ages"  in  bondage. 

Note. — Never  pause  between  the  verb  and  its  objective  case, 
m  a  direct  sentence,  unless  other  words  intervene  ;  except  for 
the  sake  of  emphasis. 


2.  MIDDLE  PAUSE,  *^  (crotchet-rest.) 

Frequently  occurs  in  the  middle  of  the  sentence, — 
which  it  serves  to  divide,  by  separating  the  opening, 
or  what  may  be  called  the  incomplete  or  hypothetical 
part,  from  the  closing  or  winding  up  of  the  sentence, 
— where  the  se7ise  is  perfected. 

EXAMPLES. 

If  the  world  is  not  the  work  of  chance'^- 

it  must  have  had  an  intelUgent  Maker. 

Although  you  see  not  many  possessed  of  a  good  taste""^ 

yet  the  generality  of  mankind  are  capable  of  it. 

Nations,  like  men,  fail  in  nothing  which  they  boldly  under- 
take,''- 
when  sustained  by  virtuous  purpose  and  firm  resolution. 

Role  1. 

The  middle  pause  (therefore)  precedes  and  marks  the  cowr- 
mencemetit  of  the  climax  of  the  sense  of  a  sentence. 

And  now,  applying  all  the  preceding  rules  for  pause. 


RHETORICAL    PAUSE.  67 

let  the  student  read  aloud  the  two  extracts,  which  he 
has  already  read  without  the  rhetorical  pauses  ;  and 
he  cannot  fail  to  perceive  the  advantage  he  will  gain 
in  ease  and  effect. 

They  would  be  marke.d,  as  to  rhetorical  pauses,  as 
follows : 

1.  Nothing  is  more  prejudicial"'  to  the  great  interests  of  a 
nation"- 

than  unsettled  and  varying  policy. 

2.  Tlie  people  of  the  United  States'*  have  justly  supposed* 
that  the  policy"  of  protecting  their  industry'^  against  foreign 
legislation  and  foreign  industry*^  was  fully  settled,'^- 

not"^  by  a  single  act,'^- 

but'^  by  repeated  and  deliberate  acts  of  governmenf^  per- 
formed'' at  distant  and  frequent  intervals. 

Rule  2. 

The  middle  pause  is  also  used  to  mark  a  parenthesis^  or  any 
parentlietical  interruption  of  the  sense  ;  unless  it  be  very  slight ; 
in  -which  latter  case  the  short  pause  is  sufficient. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Men  of  sviperior  genius  '- 

while  they  see  the  rest  of  mankind''  painfully 
struggling''  to  comprehend  obvious  truths''- 

glance*'  themselves''  like  lightning'' 
through  the  most  remote  consequences. 

2.  Genius''  the  pride  of  man'' 

as  man  is  of  the  creation" 

has  been  possessed  but  by  few. 

The  judicious  use  of  the  short  pause  and  the  mid- 
dle pause,  serves  also  to  class  and  divide  members  of 
sentences  in  logical  and  clear  division,  according  as 


68  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

they  are  more  or  less  immediately  connected  with 
each  other  in  thought  and  construction ;  hence  follows 
as  a 

General  Rule. 

Branches  of  sentences  having  immediate  reference  to  each 
other,  can  be  divided  only  by  the  short  pause  ;  while  they  must 
be  separated  from  other  branches  with  which  they  are  less  con- 
nected, by  the  middle  pause. 


These  are  the  men,"^  to  whom,*^- 

arrayed  in  all  the  terrors  of  government,'^  I  would  say,"^- 
you  shall  not  degrade  us  into  brutes. 

If.  in  this  sentence,  we  make  a  short  pause  only  after  to  whom, 
the  next  branch  of  the  sentence,  arrayed  in  all  the  terrors  of 
government,  would  appear  to  refer  to  the  men  to  whom  j  where- 
as, being  separated,  as  it  is,  from  those  words,  by  the  middle 
pause,  it  is  assigned  to  the  pronoun  /,  to  which  it  really  belongs. 

The  middle  pause  is  also  frequently  used  in  place  of  the  gram- 
matical period  or  full  stop,  between  two  sentences,  which  are 
closely  allied  to  each  other  in  relation  to  the  sense  which  they 
bear  out,— as  will  be  presently  shown. 


3.    THE  REST,  07'  FULL  PAUSE    — , 

Marks  the  peifection  of  the  sense,  that  is,  the  cli- 
max  of  its  force  ;  as,  the  close  of  a  propositio7i'. 

li'h.e  full-stop,  which  is  used  in  graniinatical  punc- 
tuation to  mark  the  close  of  a  sentence  or  period,  is 
not  a  sufficiently  distinct  guide ;  for  it  frequently 
closes  a  sentence  which  is  intimately  allied,  by  the 


RHETORICAL    PAUSE.  69 

connection  of  the  setise,  with  the  ne.vt,  and  perhaps 
with  several  succeeding  ])eriods.  In  such  cases,  the 
punctiim  or  full-stop  which  marks  the  grammatical 
close  of  a  sentence,  should  be  rejected  in  reading  ;  the 
middle  pause  should  be  used  in  its  stead  ;  and  the 
rest  or  full  jiause  should  not  be  introduced  till  the 
actual  winding  up  of  all  the  sentences  which  have  a 
close  relation  to  each  other  in  continuing  or  carry- 
ing out  the  sense  to  its  climax  or  perfect  close. 

Take  the  following  sentences,  with  their  gram- 
matical punctuation  as  an 

EXAMPLE. 

Logicians  may  reason  about  abstractions,  but  the  great 
mass  of  mankind  can  never  feel  an  interest  in  them.  They 
must  have  images. 

Now  here  the  second  short  sentence  is  intimately  connected 
with,  and  in  its  relation  to  the  sense^  forms  part  ot  the  first ;  in 
fact,  it  completes  and  closes  the  proposition  which  the  first 
sentence  opened  and  began.  Yet  it  is  divided  from  that  first 
sentence,  (with  which,  in  its  relation  to  the  sense,  it  is  so  inti- 
mately connected)  by  the  grammatical  fall-stop  or  period  ;  and 
yet,  the  close  of  the  whole  proposition  contained  in  these  two 
sentences  admits,  in  grammatical  pimctuation,  of  no  greater 
division  from  what  may  follow,  in  support  and  illustration  of  that 
proposition,  than  the  same  period  or  ftdl-stop,  which  has  been 
already  used  to  separate  the  two  parts  of  the  whole  proposition. 
This  is  illogical.  The  two  sentences  should  thus  be  relatively 
marked  and  read  with  rhetorical  pause  : 

Logicians'^  may  reason  about  abstractions,'*-  but  the 
great  mass  of  mankind*'  can  never  feel  an  interest  m 
them"-     They  must  have  images.  - 

For  further  illustration,  I  give  the  following  sentences,  mark- 


70  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

ed  both  grammatically  and  rhetoricalhj,  by  which  it  will  be 
seen  that  the  period  or  full-stop  is  frequently  used  when  the 
middle  pause  is  sufficient,  and  indeed  absolutely  necessary,  to 
keep  up  the  connection  of  the  sense  ;  and  that,  at  the  full  close 
of  the  relation  between  the  sentences  so  divided  by  the  middle 
pattse,  and  not  till  then, — the  full  pause  should  have  place. 

EXAMPLES. 

Soon  after  Christianity  achieved  its  triumph,  the  principles  that 
had  assisted  it"^  began  to  corrupt."^  It  became  a  new  pagan- 
ism.*"- Patron  saints""  assumed  the  offices  of  household  gods.'^ 
St.  George^  took  the  place  of  Mars."'-  St.  Elmo  consoled  the 
mariner"  for  the  loss  of  Castor  and  Pollux."'-  The  Virgm 
Mother  and  Cecilia""  succeeded  to  Venus  and  the  Muses.""- 
The  fascination  of  sex  and  loveliness""  was  again  joined''  to 
that  of  celestial  dignity ;""-  and  the  homage  of  chivalry""  was 
blended"'  with  that  of  religion.  - 

Now  all  these  sentences  are  intimately  allied  to  each  other ; 
they  form  parts  of  the  same  proposition,  and  serve  only  to  com- 
plete and  carry  it  out.  They  cannot  therefore  logically  admit 
of  a  greater  separation  by  pause  than  that  which  I  have 
marked  above  :  their  final  close  alone  can  be  marked  with  the 
full  pause. 


4.  LONG  PAUSE  I  (bar-rest) 

Marks  the  close  of  a  subject,  or  of  an  important  di- 
vision of  it. 

It  precedes — 

The  change  from  one  division  of  a  discourse  to  another ; 
A  new  train  of  ideas  or  course  of  argument ; 
A  7-eturn  from  a  digression,  or  from  excited  declamation 
10  calm  statement  and  logical  dis'cussion. 

This  pause  affords  an  opportunity  to  correct  the  tone  or  pitch 


EXERCISE   ON    PAUSE.  '  71 

of  voice,  which  may  have  reached  a  high  range  in  the  excite* 
ment  of  earnest  argument  or  intense  feeling.  In  this  latter 
regard  the  long  pause  is  of  great  use  and  assistance  to  the 
reader  and  the  orator.  Its  application  must  be  illustrated  and 
acquired  by  practical  exercise. 

The  system  of  Rhetorical  Pause  deserves  the  stu- 
dent's best  attention ;  for  its  proper  appHcation  will 
contribute  greatly  to  the  clearness,  flow,  and  effect  of 
his  discourse,  as  well  as  to  his  own  ease  and  delivery. 

Let  him  now  read  aloud  the  following  marked 

EXERCISE  ON  PAUSE- 
SENSE"'  TASTE^  AND  GENIUS. - 

Usher. 

The    human   genius^  with    the    best    assistance'* 
breaks  forth  but  slowly"*-  and  the  greatest  men*'  have 
but   gradually   acquired   a  just   taste'^  and   chaste*' 
simple"'  conceptions  of  beauty—  At  an  immature  age"* 
the  sense  of  beauty""  is  weak  and  confused"-  and  re- 
quires  an  excess  of  coloring"'  to  catch  the  attention"'- 
It  then"'  prefers  extravagance  and  rant"'  to  justness*^- 
a  gross  false  wit"  to  the  engaging  light  of  nature*^ 
and  the  shewy"'  rich"  and  glaring"*  to  the  fine"*  and 
amiable—     This"*  is  the  childhood  of  taste"*-  but""  as 
the   human  genius  strengthens  and  grows  to  matu- 
rity"- if  it  be  assisted  by  a  happy  education"  the  sense 
of  universal  beauty   awakes"-  it  begins   to   be    dis- 
gusted"' with  the  false""  and  mis-shapen  deceptions"* 
that  pleased  before"-  and  rests"^  with  delight"'  on  ele- 


72  ART  OF  ELOCUTIOX. 

gant  simplicity"  on  pictures  of  easy  beauty"'  and  un- 
affected grandeur  | 

The  progress  of  the  fine  arts""  in  the  human  mind"' 
may  be  fixed*^  at  three    remarkable   degrees'^-  from 
their  foundation"'  to  the  loftiest  height—    The  basis  is 
a  sense  of  beauty"^  and  of  the  sublime''-  the  second 
step''  \VQ  may  call  taste*'-  and  the  last''  genius  | 

A  sense  of  the  beautiful"'  and  of  the  greaf  is  uni- 
versal''- which  appears""  from  the  uniformity  there- 
of in  the  most  distant  ages  and  nations—  What 
was  engaging  and  sublime"*  in  ancient  Greece  and 
Rome"'  is  so  at  this  day""-  and"'  as  I  observed  be- 
fore"'- there  is  not  the  least  necessity^  of  improve- 
ment or  science"'  to  discover  the  charms  of  a  graceful 
or  noble  deportment"-  There  is  a  fine"'  but  an  incf- 
fectuaP  lighf  in  the  breast  of  man—  After  night- 
fall"' we  have  admired  the  planet  Venus"-  the  beau- 
ty"' and  vivacity  of  her  lustre"- the  immense  distance"' 
from  wliich  we  judged  her  beams  issued"'  and  the 
silence  of  the  night"'-  all  concurred''  to  strike  us  with 
an  agreeable  amazement"-  "But  she  shone"'  in  distin- 
guished beauty"  without  giving  sufficient  light"'  to  di- 
rect our  steps"*  or  show  us  the  objects  around—  Thus"* 
in  unimproved  nature"*  the  light  of  the  mind"'  is 
briglif  and  useless—  In  utter  barbarity"*  our  pros- 
pect of  it"*  is  still  less  fixed"*-  it  appears"*  and  then 
again"!  seems  wholly  to  vanish"*  in  tlie  savage  brcast"- 
like  the  same  planet  Venus"-when  she  has  but  just 
raised  her  orient  beams"*  to  mariners"*  above  the 
waves"-  and  is  now  descried"'  now  lost"  through  the 
swelling  billows  | 


EXERCISE    IN    TROSE.  73 

The  next  step"^  is  taste"-  the  subject  of  our  in- 
quiry"- which  consists'^  in  a  distinct"^  unconfused 
knowledge"  of  the  great  and  beautiful-  Although 
you  see  not  many"  possessed  of  good  taste"'-  yet  the 
generality  of  mankind"  are  capable  of  it—  The  very 
populace  of  Athens"*  had  acquired  a  good  taste"  by 
habit  and  fine  examples""-  so  that  a  delicacy  of  judg- 
ment" seemed  natural'  to  all  who  breathed  the  air 
of  that  elegant  city"-  We  find  a  manly  and  elevated 
sense"'  distinguish  the  common  people  of  Rome"  and 
of  all  the  cities  of  Greece"  while  the  level  of  man- 
kind'' was  preserved  in  those  cities"-  while  the  ple- 
beians had  a  share  in  the  government"'  and  an  utter 
separation  was  not  made'  between  them  and  the  no- 
bles'" by  wealth  and  luxury'^  But"  when  once  the 
common  people"  are  rent  asunder''  wholly''  from  the 
great  and  opulent"  and  made  subservient''  to  the  lux- 
ury of  the  latter"-  then"  the  taste  of  nature'^  infalli- 
bly takes  her  flight  from  both  parties"-  The  poor"  by 
a  sordid  habit"  and  an  attention  wholly  confined  to 
mean  views'"-  and  the  rich""  by  an  attention  to  the 
changeable  modes  of  fancy"  and  a  vitiated  prefer- 
ence*" for  the  rich  and  costly'^-  lose  the  view^  of  sim- 
ple beauty  and  grandeur- 
It  may  seem  a  paradox"-  and  yef^  I  am  firmly  per- 
suaded" that  it  would  be  easier''  at  this  day"^  to  give 
a  good  taste"  to  the  young  savages  of  America"-  than 
to  the  noble  youth  of  Europe  | 

Genius"  the  pride  of  man''  as  man  is  of  the  cre- 
ation"' has  been  possessed  but  by  few""  even  in  the 
brightest  ages—    Men  of  superior  genius"-  while  they 

D 


74  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

see  the  rest  of  mankind'^  painfully  struggling*'  to  com- 
prehend obvious  truths"^-  glance''  themselves''  through 
the  most  remote  consequences''-  like  lightning'' 
through  a  path''  that  cannot  be  traced''-  They  see 
the  beauties  of  nature''  with  light  and  warmth''  and 
paint  them  forcibly''  without  effort"-  as  the  morning 
sun''  does  the  scenes  he  rises  upon''-  and''  in  several 
instances''  communicate  to  objects'"  a  morning  fresh- 
ness'' and  unaccountable  lustre"  that  is  not  seen  in  the 
creations  of  nature-  The  poet^  the  statuary'' the 
painter''  have  produced  images''  that  left  nature  far 
behind  I 


INFLECTION.  75 


2.    INFLECTION. 

The  human  voice  is  to  be  considered  as  a  musical 
instrument — an  organ  ;  constructed  by  the  hand  of  the 
Great  Master  of  all  Harmony.  It  has  its  bellows,  its 
pipe,  its  mouth-piece  ;  and  when  we  know  the  "  stops" 
"  it  will  discourse  most  eloquent  music."  It  has  its  ga- 
mut, or  scale  of  ascent  and  descent ;  it  has  its  keys,  or 
pitch, — its  tones, — its  semi-tones,  its  bass,  its  tenor,  its 
alt — its  melody,  its  cadence.  It  can  speak  as  gently 
as  the  lute,  '•  like  the  SAveet  south  upon  a  bed  of  vio- 
lets," or  as  shrilly  as  the  trumpet ;  it  can  tune  the 
"  silver-sweet"  note  of  love,  and  "  the  iron  throat  of 
war ;"  in  fine,  it  may  be  modulated  by  art  to  any 
sound  of  softness  or  of  strength,  of  gentleness  or  harsh- 
ness, of  harmony  or  discord.  And  the  art  that  wins 
this  music  from  the  strings  is  Elocution.  The  nice- 
ties and  refinements  of  this  art  are  to  be  acquired,  step 
by  step,  by  well-directed  practice. 

At  present,  let  us  learn  a  simple  ascetit,  (or  rise,) 
and  descent,  {or  fall.)  of  the  voice  ;  of  the  range  of — 
say  one  tone  in  music,  upwards  or  downwards.  This 
ascent  or  descent  of  the  voice  is  called  by  Elocution- 
ists, Inflection,*  and  they  have  two 

SIMPLE  INFLECTIONS. 

The  rising  inflection,  marked  with  the  acute  accent  thus  "^ 
on  the  inflected  word. 

The  falling  inflection,  marked  with  the  grave  accent,  thus~"^ 

*  The  correct  term  for  this  slide  of  the  voice,  or  chansre  of 


76  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

The  student  may  always,  at  will,  strike  these  in- 
flections with  certainty  by  asking  himself  the  follow- 
ing question,  (which  can  hardly  be  spoken  without 
making  the  inflections  distinctly,  as  they  are  marked  :) 


Did  I  rise  or  fall  ? 

In  which  the  rising  inflection  occurs  on  the  word  rise^  and  the 
falling  inflection  on  the  word  fall.  It  can  therefore  never  be 
forgotten,  and  may  serve  as  a  mnemonic  or  key  to  these  two 
simple  inflections. 

This  and  similar  questions  run  on  an  ascending  and  descend- 
ing scale  of  the  voice,  which  may  be  thus  marked : 


In  which  the  voice  descends  on  "  Do  /," — ascends  on  " rise" 
the  pitch  being  at  the  highest  on  "  or,''^  when  the  voice  imme- 
diately descends  on  '■'•fall.'''' 

pitch  from  low  to  high,  is  doubtless  accent.  We  derive  the 
grave  and  acute  accents  from  the  Greeks,  who,  it  is  supposed, 
used  them  to  denote  the  slides  of  the  voice  from  grave  to  sharp, 
or  low  to  high  ;  so  that,  it  is  believed  that  the  speeches  of  their 
orators  were  marked,  almost  as  minutely  as  a  musical  score,  for 
the  direction  of  the  voice.  But  the  term  accent  has,  by  cus- 
tom, now  grown  to  be  so  constantly  applied  to  stress  upon  a 
Byllable,  that  I  prefer  to  adopt  the  less  technically  correct,  but 
equally  intelligible  term,  infection^  to  denote  the  slides  of  the 
voice  ;  and  to  use  the  term  accent  in  its  present  popularly  re- 
ceived sense. 


INFLECTION.  77 

This  ascent  of  the  voice,  or  rising  inflection,  varies 
in  its  range  from  o/ie  t©ne  to  three.  Tiie  pitch  in- 
creases as  the  force  of  the  speaker  increases.  In  or- 
dinary speech,  where  no  particular  force  is  given, — in 
a  perfectly  indifferent  question,  for  example, — the  rise 
would  not  be  more  than  of  one  tone  :  as, 

"  Will  my  brother  come  ? 

asked  quite  indifferently^  would  receive  an  ascent  of 
one  tone  :  asked  with  interest,  would  receive  an  as- 
cent of  three  tones  ;  asked  eagerly,  would  rise  five 
tones  ;  and  asked  with  a  j^assionate  expression,  or  of 
surprise,  would  rise  even  an  octave  ;  but,  in  reading 
or  speaking  with  any  degree  of  force,  the  simple  ris- 
ing inflection  is  usually  over  an  interval  of  three  tones, 
(a  third ) ;  and  the  descent  of  the  falling  inflection 
is  over  the  same  interval.  And  the  change  of  pitch  is 
discrete ;  that  is,  the  voice  leaps  directly  and  abruptly 
from  tone  to  tons  ;  whereas,  in  the  greater  ascent  of  a 
fifth,  and  an  octave,  it  is  concrete  ;  that  is,  it  slides 
over  the  interval,  shirring  the  intermediate  tones  : 
this  distinction  will  be  more  fully  explained  under  the 
head  of  comimund  infiections. 

To  facilitate  and  familiarise  to  the  pupil's  ear  and  voice  the 
distinction  between  the  rising  and  falling  inflection,  let  him 
practise  the  tonic  sounds,  upon  the  following  plan,  of  rising  and 
falling  on  each. 


78 


ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 


This  practice  will  be  of  great  service  in  improving  the  pitch 
of  the  voice,  and  giving  it  facihty  and  pUabihty.  The  student 
should  therefore  practise  it  till  he  can  strike  the  third,  rising  and 
falling,  clearly,  forcibly,  and  with  certainty. 


V^Vv    ^K^\,   ^"-y^''^ 


INFLECTION.  79 

INFLECTIONS  TO  MARK  THE  SENSE. 

The  popular  or  common  direction — drop  your  voice 
at  the  end  of  a  sentence — is  illogical  and  false  ;  and  is 
the  cause  of  a  very  general  bad  habit  with  young 
readers,  and  one  which  they  seldom  shake  off  in  after- 
life except  under  good  instruction, — that  of  letting  the 
voice  sink  in  pitch  and  tone  and  fulness  on  the  con- 
cluding word  or  words  of  every  sentence  ;  the  effect 
of  which  is,  that  the  last  words  of  a  sentence  which 
are  essential  to  complete  the  whole  sense, — and  with- 
out which  the  auditor  can  only  guess  at  the  speaker's 
meaning, — are  not  heard  at  all ;  or,  if  even  heard,  are 
deprived  of  all  force,  by  the  listless  manner  in  which 
they  fall  from  the  mouth.  Tliis  is,  of  all  things,  to  be 
avoided.  The  last  words  of  a  sentence  are  as  impor- 
tant as  the  first, — indeed,  they  are  generally  more  so  : 
therefore  let  them  have  always  full  enunciation  and 
weight  in  deliveiy  ;  or  your  meaning  will  be  imper- 
fect and  uncertain. 

The  inflection  proper  to  the  close  of  a  sentence  de- 
pends upon  the  form  or  nature  of  that  sentence  :  whe- 
ther it  be  affirmative. — negative,  or  interrogative  ;  or 
whether  the  full  sense  be  complete  or  suspended  ;  for, 
as  a  principle,  the  rising  inflection  is  the  mark  of  in- 
complete sense,  as  the  falling  inflection  denotes  the 
close  or  co?npletion  of  the  sense  of  a  sentence ;  and 
the  inflection  required  is  regulated  by  the  condition  of 
the  sense. 


1.  Affirmative  sense. 


80  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

S,mtence3  containing  a  simple  unqualified  affirmative  are 
marked  with  the  falling  inflection  :  as, 

I   wrote  because  it  amused  me.     I  corrected,  because  it 
was  as  pleasant  to  correct  as  to  write. 

2.  Negative  sense 

IS  marked  with  the  rising  inflection :  as, 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained. 

It  is  not  a  book  I  want. 

Note  that  in  this  form  of  sentence  tJie  rising  infection  is  to 
be  placed  on  the  word  or  thing  negatived  ;  the  negative  parti- 
cle not  ha^b'  usualhj  a  falling  infection,  for  force. 

From  the  above  rules  it  follows,  that 
In   a   sentence   containing   an  affirmative   in   one 
branch  of  it,  and  a  negative  or  denial  in  the  other, 

3.  The  affirmative  part  of  the  sentence  receives  the  falling 
inflection,  the  negative  part  the  rising  inflection ;  whatever 
may  be  the  construction  of  t!ie  sentence  as  to  the  precedence  of 
the  one  branch  or  the  other :  as, 

I  said  good,  not  bad :  virtuous,  not  vicious. 

This  book  is  not  mine,  but  yours. 

This  letter  is  yours,  not  mine. 

You  said  you  were  coming  home.— 
No  ;  I  did  not. 

4.  The  Imperative  sense 
requires  the  falling  inflection. 


IM-],ECTIO.\.  81 

Hence  horrible  shadow, 

Unreal  mocker}^  hence ! 

Let  me  hear  no  more  ! 

5.  Interrogative  sense 
is  marked  by  the  rising  inflection  :  as, 

Did  he  say  he  would  come  1 

Will  he  be  here  to-day  ? 

Is  a  candle  brought  to  be  put  under  a  bushel,  or  vmder  a 
bed.*— (Mark  iv.,  21.) 

Except : 

Questions  asked  with  an  interrogative  pronoun  or  adverb — 
tcAo,  which,  what,  when,  where,  &c.,  as. 

Who  said  he  would  come  ?     Why  so  ? 
The  alternative  part  of  a  question,  as, 
Will  he  live*'  or  die  ? 

Did  he  say  he  would  come  •"  or  did  he  say  he  would  not  1 
And 

A  stated  or  quoted  question,  occurring  in  an  affirmative  sen- 
tence, as, 

The  question  is, — shall  we  proceed. 

*  See  Introduction  to  this  work,  in  reply  to  the  Rt.  Rev.  Dr. 
Whateley's  Elements  of  Rhetoric,  Part  IV,,  c.  ii.,  §  12. 

D* 


82  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

He  desires  me  to  ask  you — will  you  persevere. 

All  these  exceptions  require  the  falling  inflection. 

But, 

Such  stated  or  quoted  question  occurring  in  a  simple  interro- 
gative or  negative  sentence,  will  receive  the  inflection  due  to 
the  sentence :  as, 

Will  you  still  go  about  and  ask  one  another — what  news  ? 

I  did  not  ask,  what  news  ? 

For  it  is  the  condition  of  the  seiise — i.  e.,  whether  finished 
or  unfinished, — that  governs  the  inflection  due  to  a  sentence. 

Departures  from  the  above  general  rules  of  inflec- 
tion for  simple,  direct  sentences,  are  occasionally  made 
for  force  and  effect  under  the  power  of  emphasis, — 
which  will  be  presently  explained. 


EODY  OF  A  SENTENCE — SUSPENSION  OF  VOICE 

INFLECTION. 

There  is  a  distinction  to  be  observed  between  sus- 
pension  of  voice  ; — by  which  I  mean,  holding  the  voice 
up  and  not  Icitivg  it  fall — and  a  risijiif  hiflection, 
whicli,  as  we  have  seen,  is  an  actual  ascent  of  the  voice. 

Inflection  marks  and  denotes  meaning,  or,  the 
actual  condition  of  the  sense:  suspension  of  voice  ac- 
companies  suspension  of  sense,   while   it  is  in  the 


INFLECTION    AND    SUSPENSION.  83 

course  of  formation  ;  and  the  full  close  of  the  sense 
of  a  sentence,  leaving  nothing  to  be  added  or  sup- 
posed, is  denoted  by  the  falling  inflection.  This  is 
clear  from  the  preceding  rules  :  and  holds  good  as  to 
simple  sentences  ;  i.  e.  sentences  not  having  several 
members  intervening  (and  requiring  variety  of  inflec- 
tion) between  the  commencement  and  the  close  of 
the  period. 

GENERAL  RULES. 

1.  The  voice  must  be  suspended  till  it  take  an  inflection 
under  some  rule ;  and  the  last  word  of  the  suspended  sense 
— immediately  preceding  that  on  which  the  formation  of  com- 
plete sense  begins — must  be  marked  with  a  distinct  rising 
inflection. 

This  injlection,  at  this  point  of  the  sentence,  accompanied  by 
tlie  middle  pause,  serves  to  divide  a  simple  sentence  into  two 
parts  ;  the  opening,  or  incomplete  part,  and  the  closing,  or  per' 
feet  part. — (>Siee  Bide  1.  of  Middle  Pause,  p.  66.) 

2.  If  the  sense  be  completed  before  the  close  of  the  period, 
the  falling  infection  must  mark  it ;  and  this,  even  if  many 
other  words  and  members  follow — provided  their  addition  do 
not  vary  or  qualify  (though  they  may  explaLii  and  strengthen) 
the  previous  meaning. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Grace  of  manners'"  is  so  essential  to  princes'- 

that,  whenever  it  is  neglected,  their  virtues  lose  a  great 
degree  of  lustre. 

2.  The  rule  itself  is  an  example  in  point ;  at  the  words,  '  mark 
if  and  ^ follow^ ;  and  the  following  sentence — 


84  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

This  proposition  was,  however,  rejected,"^- 

and  not  merely  rejected^  but  rejected  with  insult. 

The  perfect  understanding  of  the  preceding  rules  of 
simple  inflection — which  are  the  basis  of  all  that  will 
follow — is  essential  before  advancing  a  step  further. 

Their  application  tends  much  to  correct  that  un- 
meaning sameness  or  monotony  so  common  to  readers 
in  general,  and  so  tiresome  to  the  ear :  and  when,  to 
the  practice  of  these  rules,  is  added  that  of  the  doctrine 
of  rhetorical  pause,  the  style  is  at  once  indued  with 
meaning,  life,  and  a  pleasing  variety.  This  is  the 
first  step  towards  the  Music  of  Elocution. 


COMPOUND  inflections. 

There  are  also  co?npou)id  or  double  inflections, — 
consisting  of  a  concrete  slide  ascending  or  descending, 
and  embracing  Jive  and  even  eight  tones, — that  is,  a 
full  octave — under  the  influence  of  strong  feeling,  ex- 
pression, or  energy.  These  inflections  are  fully 
treated  of  hereafter  in  Part  III.  nf  2d  Division. 

Before  we  enter  upon  the  intricacies  and  variations 
of  inflection  necessary  to  long,  or  particularly-con- 
structed periods,  let  us  for  the  present  proceed  to  the 
third  principle  under  our  second  division,  viz. 


i 


EMPHASIS.  85 


3.  EMPHASIS 


is  a  word  of  Greek  origin  and  form,  adopted  in  its 
original  spelling  (5,af  atfi;)  into  our  language  ;  its  deri- 
vation is  sv  (o;i)  and  ^--iiai  (io  speak),  or  ipatng  (sjjeech) : 
according  to  which,  therefore,  emphasis  strictly  signi- 
fies a  speaking  (strongly)  upon  ;  or,  as  it  is  popularly 
called,  a  stress  of  the  voice  upon  a  certain  word  (or 
words)  to  which  a  particular  meaning  or  force  is  at- 
tached, and  particular  attention  desired :  and  this  is 
called  the  emphatic  word ;  (I  denote  it  by  this  line 
written  under  the  word,)  thus  : 

He  spoke  for  religion,  not  against  it. 

This  book  is  mine,  that  yours. 

In  the  utterance  of  the  above  sentences,  the  words 
marked  as  emphatic  receive  an  impulsive  or  explo- 
sive force  of  sound,  which  distinguishes  their  power 
and  importance  above  the  other  words.  Just  in  the 
same  manner  as  what  we  call  the  accented  syllable 
in  any  word  is  marked  by  stress,  or  stroke  of  sound, 
from  the  other  syllables  with  which  it  is  combined  :  as 
in  the  words 

ri7'-tue,     TOe7--ciful,    pol-icy,     7-esohi-tion,     coii-stancy, 

in  which  the  stress^  or  impulse  of  sound,  is  thrown  on 
to  one  particular  syllable,  which  is  popularly  called 


86  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

the  accented,*  but  more  properly,  the  heavy  syllable, 
in  contradistinction  to  the  light  or  (as  they  are  called) 
unaccented  syllables,  which  have  no  weig-ht  of  sound, 
or  sti^ess  upon  them :  so,  in  a  sentence,  the  stress  or 
emphasis  being  thrown  by  an  impulse  of  sound  on 
any  particular  word,  that  word  is  called  the  emphatic 
ivord.  And,  in  fact,  this  emphasis,  when  applied  to  a 
word,  falls  always  on  the  accented  or  heavy  syllable 
of  the  word,  doubling  the  stress  upon  it.  We  shall 
presently  see  that  emphasis  requires,  to  be  complete, 
not  only  stress,  but  inflection  ;  and  that  that  inflection 
is  governed  by  the  character  of  the  emphasis. 

But,  first,  it  is  proper  to  observe  here  the  distinc- 
tion between  our  language  and  that  of  the  Greeks 
and  Romans,  who  measured  the  march  of  their  lan- 
guage by  quantity,  of  long  -  or  short  w  syllables  : 
and  all  the  words  of  their  language  had  a  certain 
and  fixed  prosodial  quantity  ;  according  to  which 
their  verses  are  supposed  to  have  been  constructed 
and  scanned  or  measured.  Our  language,  on  the 
contrary,  acknowledges  no  fixed  and  certain  quan- 
tity to  its  syllables  ;  the  distinction  between  which  is 
of  light  and  heavy,  not  of  long  and  short :  for  the 
length  or  time  of  utterance  to  be  given  to  a  word  or 
syllable  in  our  language,  is  regulated  not  by  any  fixed 
prosodial  rule  (to  which  it  is  not  amenable,)  but  by 
other  circumstances  of  a  varying  nature,  as,  its  force 
and  value  to  the  sense, — or  the  amount  of  feeling  that 
is  to  be  conveyed  by  or  upon  it  ;  so  that  in  our  versi- 

*  See  "  Inflection,"  and  Note  to  page  75. 


K^IPHASiS.  87 

fication,  it  constantly  happens  that,  in  its  relative  pro- 
portion in  a  line,  the  same  word  is  sometimes  long, 
sometimes  short ;  and  indeed,  it  will  be  manifest  to 
any  ear,  that  monosyllables,  such  as  care,  there,  loud, 
bold,  &.C.  may  be  prolonged  at  will  to  any  indefinite 
time,  so  as  to  give  to  them  the  quantity  of  a  quaver,  a 
crotchet,  a  minim,  or  even  a  semibreve.  This  clearly 
does  away  with  the  idea  of  a  settled  rule  of  quantity 
in  our  language  ;  the  rhythmus  (or  order)  of  which  is 
governed  by  another  principle,  that  of  the  regular  ar- 
rangement of  heavy  and  light  sounds,  or  syllables  ; 
and  this  it  is,  not  quantity,  which  makes  the  rhythm 
of  English  versification.  This  will  be  more  fully 
treated  of  under  the  head  of  "  Time,^''  in  the  chapter  de- 
voted to  the  Reading  of  Verse. 

Here  it  is  necessary  to  remark,  that  there  is  a  certain 
rhythmical,  or  measured,  movement  even  in  prose  ; 
not  so  regularly  preserved  as  in  verse,  but  still  re- 
quiring to  be  noted  and  marked  in  reading. 

In  some  elaborate  compositions,  indeed,  where  the 
cadences  are  very  regular,  the  rhythm  and  time  are 
preserved  with  great  exactness  ;  and  it  is  a  great 
beauty  in  elocution  to  mark  them  by  the  pidsation 
and  remission  of  the  voice,  on  the  heavy  and  light 
syllables  respectively,  and  by  a  due  observance  of 
time  or  measure. 

Take,  as  an  example,  the  following,  by  Dr.  John- 
son, in  common  time  :  The  notation  is  only  to  show 
the  tim,e,  and  the  barring  marks  the  rhythmical  ac- 
centuation : 


88 


ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 


- 

Sir 


r  r 


the    a-       tro-  cious    crime    of       be-  ing      a 


!   ^ 


I     !*•  5  5 

#      #      0      « 


K  K 


0   0     0 


young  man    which  the      hon-  or-    a-    ble     gen-tle-man 


has 

1 

0    •      0 


with  such    spi- 


charged  up-      on 

0      ^010 

I  I 

tempt       to       pal- 


0 
me 


0       0 


rit     and       de-  cen-  cy 

0  0      \0  0        0 

r 

1  sliall    neith-  er    at- 


I 
0 

ate 


0       0 


nor    de-     ny ; 


but    con-    tent        my-    self         with    wish-    ing 


J 

fol- 

r 


^   0 

tJiat 

0 
hes 


f       0 


may    be      one 


of       those    whose 

III     f  r 

#  #  0        0 

may    cease   with  their    youth, 


0 
and 


0 

I 
not 


1      #       #        0     0 

f 
of      that   num-  ber 


0       0 
who  are 


EMPHASIS.  89 

i<^    «^    I  I   I      '     '  I    '     '     I  i 
^       ,    s    I  a       O     9    \  9     9     m    \ 


ig-    no-  rant  in       spite    of    ex-       pe-     ri-  ence. 

In  this  example  I  have  marked  the  accented  or  heavy  sylla- 
bles which  require  pulsation  of  voice ;  and  it  will  be  observed 
that  i\ie  first  note  ol'  the  bar  is  always  accented,  or  its  place  is 
supplied  by  a  rest,  or  pause,  which,  with  the  other  notes,  fills 
up  the  cadence,  and  completes  the  bar  ;  for  rests^  or  pauses,  are 
as  essential,  a  part  of  the  r/iylhm  as  the  notes  themselves,  and, 
in  verse  especially,  it  is  on  their  due  and  proportionate  observ- 
ance, as  well  as  of  the  heavy  and  li^ht  syllables,  that  rhythm 
depends.  All  this  is  more  fully  explained  hereafter :  but  I 
thought  thus  much,  on  the  subject  of  quantity  and  stress,  (or 
accent.)  necessary  to  be  remarked  before  proceeding  with  Em- 
phasis, of  which  stress  is  an  essential  constituent. 

The  power  of  emphasis  to  strengthen  or  change  the 
meaning  of  any  sentence  is  very  great ;  and  its  proper 
use  in  delivery  adds  greatly  to  the  point  and  power  of 
a  discourse  ;  hence  some  orators  are  called  e??ip/iatic 
speakers,  when  it  is  intended  that  their  style  is  pointed 
and  forcible.  But  Emphasis  is  not  merely  stress  or 
weight  of  voice  :  it  is  made  up  oi  stress  and  inflection  ; 
accordingly, 

Emphasis  is  stress  and  inflection  of  voice. 

There  are  two  principal  kinds  of  Emphasis — 

1.  Emphasis  of  sense. 

2.  Emphasis  o^  force. 

1.  Emphasis  of  sense  is  that  emphasis  which  marks 
and  indicates  the  meaning  or  sense  of  the  sentence  ; 
and  which  being  transferred  from  word  to  word,  has 


90  Ar.T    OF    ELOCUTION. 

power  to  change  and  vary  the  particular  meaning  of 
such  sentence.  In  other  words,  it  is  the  placing  on 
the  particular  word  which  carries  the  main  point  of  the 
sentence,  or  member  of  the  sentence,  the  inflection 
due  to  such  sentence  or  member,  and  giving  weight  or 
emphasis  to  such  inflection  : — the  word  so  marked  and 
distinguished  is  called  the  emphatic  word. 


To  make  the  emphasis  of  sense,  throw  the  injiection  proper 
to  the  sentence,  or  member  of  it,  on  the  emphatic  word  j  and 
give  weight  or  stress  on  that  injiection. 

Thus— 

The  following  interrogative  sentence  requires  the  rising  in- 
flection. Now,  by  placing  that  inflection  on  any  one  word,  and 
at  the  same  time  giving  xceight  or  stress  to  that  inflection — the 
eense  will  be  emphasized  on  that  particular  word  ;  and  as  the 
emphasis  of  sense  is  changed  from  word  to  word,  the  point  of 
the  sense  will  be  varied  accordingly. 

Did  you  walk  home  to-day  1 
or 

Did  you  walk  home  to-day  I 
or 

Did  you  walk  home  to-day  1 
or 

Did  you  walk  home  to-day  1 
or 

Did  you  walk  home  to-day? 

The  emphasis  of  sense  therefore  points  the  inflec- 


E.MrHASIS.  91 

tion  and  meaning  of  a  sentence,  or  member  of  it,  on 
some  particular  word  :  and  the  inflection  is  rising  or 
fallijig  according  to  the  rule  applicable  to  the  particu- 
lar sentence,  or  member  of  it,  in  which  that  word 
occurs. 

There  are  branches  of  the  emphasis  of  sense,  inci- 
dental to  particular  rules  of  inflection,  as 

Antithetical  Emphasis — 

Emphasis  with  pronominal  phrase,  &c. 

of  which  I  shall  speak  under  the  proper  heads. 

2.  Emphasis  of  force  (or  it  might  be  called  Empha- 
sis of^ feeling.)  is  that  emphasis  or  stress  whicli  a 
speaker  uses  arbitrarily  to  add  force  to  some  particu- 
lar idea  or  expression  ;  not  because  the  sense  or  mean- 
ing intended  to  be  conveyed  requires  it, — but  because 
the  force  of  his  own  feeling  dictates  it. 

RULE. 

The  emphasis  of  force  is  always  made  with  the  falling  in- 
flection; whatever  maybe  the  inflection  proper  to  the  sentence, 
without  such  emphasis. 

EXAMPLES. 

Could  you  be  so  cruel  ? 
Could  you  be  so  cruel  1 
I  did  not  say  so. 

These  sentences — interrogative  and  negative — by  ordinary 
Rule,  would  have  the  rising  inflection  ;  ;  but  the  emphasis  of 
force  being  placed  on  the  word  could,  or  cruel,  and  not,  gives 


92  ART   OF    ELOCUTION. 

them  the  falling  inflection :  without  at  all  affecting  the  sense. 
— though  it  gwes  force  to  the  idea  conveyed  by  the  words. 

Bear  in  mind,  therefore,  that  this  emphasis  of  force, 
when  it  is  made,  is  independent  of  and  paramount  to 
all  general  rule  of  inflection ;  which  it  controls  and 
over-rules. 

Emphasis  of  force  is  sometimes  doubled,  as — 

Could  you  be  so  cruel? 

In  which,  the  force  is  thrown  on  two  words,  and  expresses  eta 
much  OS  if  the  speaker  said, 

Can  it  be  possible  that  you  are  what  I  consider  so  shock- 
ingly cruel ! 

There  is  also  cumulative  or  accumulated  empha- 
sis of  force  ;  that  is,  when  the  emphasis  is  heaped  or 
accumulated  on  several  words  in  succession,  as 

I  tell  you.  I  wul  not  do  it ;  nothing  on  earth  shall  persuade 
me. 

This  is  the  strongest  expression  of  force.  I  shall 
have  occasion  to  illustrate  it  more  fully  hereafter. — 
[Part  3d  of  this  Division.) 

Let  the  Student  now  practise  olmcd — as  an  exercise  on  the 
foregoing  rules — the  following  extract,  until  he  can  read  it  per- 
fectly, as  it  is  marked  for  Pause,  Inflection,  Emphasis;  and 
till  he  have  ascertained  each  particular  rule  under  which  it  is 
BO  marked. 


EXERCISE.  93 

PORTIA'S  SPEECH  ON  MERCY. 

(Marked  with  Pause,  Injiection.  and  Emphasis.) 

The  quality  of  Mercy"^  is  not  strain'd"- 

It  droppeth"  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heav'n** 

Upon  the  place  beneath—     It  is  twice*^  bless'd"*- 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives"^  and  him  that  takes^'- 

'Tis  mightiest'  in    the  mightiest '-  it  becomes 

The  throned  moiarch '  better  than  liis  cro^vn''- 

His  sceptre'  shows  the  force"  of  temporal  power^- 

The  attribute  "  to  awe  and  majesty "" 

Wherein  doth  sit '  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings''- 

But  mercy'  is  above"  this  sceptred  sway"^- 

It  is  enthroned'  in  the  hearts  of  kings*^- 

It  is  an  attribute'^  to  God  himself ''- 

And  earthly  power'  doth  then''  show  likest  God's'^ 

When  mercy^  seasons  justice.  I     Therefore"^  Jew"^- 

Tho'  justice  be  thy  plea"'  consider  this"'- 

That'  in  the  course  of  justice^  none  of  us 

Should  see  salvation"-  we  do  pray''  for  mercy**- 

And  that  same  prayer*^  doth  teach  us*'  all''  to  render 

The  deeds  of  Mercy.  I 

Shaksp, 


94  ART    Of    ELOCUTION. 


A  PRACTICE 

ON 

PART  I.  OF  THE  SECOND  DIVISION. 


"PRESS  ON." 

This  is  a  speech,  brief,  but  full  of  inspiration  and 
opening  the  way  to  all  victory.  The  mysteiy  of  Na- 
poleon's career  was  this, — under  all  difficulties  and 
discouragements,  "  press  on  !"  It  solves  the  problem 
of  all  heroes,  it  is  the  rule  by  which  to  weigh,  rightly, 
all  wonderful  successes  and  triumphal  marches  to  for- 
tune and  genius.  It  should  be  tlie  motto  of  all,  old 
and  young,  high  and  low,  fortunate  and  unfortunate, 
so  called. 

"  Press  on  !"  Never  despair  ;  never  be  discour- 
aged, however  stormy  the  heavens,  however  dark  the 
way  ;  however  great  the  difficulties,  and  repeated  the 
failures,  "  Press  on  !" 

If  fortune  has  played  false  with  thee  to-day,  do 
thou  play  true  for  thyself  to-morrow.  If  thy  riches 
have  taken  wings  and  left  thee,  do  not  weep  thy  life 
away  ;  but  be  up  and  doing,  and  retrieve  the  loss  by 
new  energies  and  action.  If  an  unfortunate  bargain 
has  deranged  thy  business,  do  not  fold  thy  arms,  and 


PRACTICE.  95 

give  up  all  as  lost ;  but  stir  thyself  and  work  the  more 
vigorously. 

If  those  whom  thou  hast  trusted  have  betrayed 
thee,  do  not  be  discouraged,  do  not  idly  weep,  but 
"  PRESS  ON  !"  find  others ;  or,  what  is  better,  learn  to 
live  within  thyself.  Let  the  foolishness  of  yesterday 
make  thee  v.dse  to-day.  If  thy  affections  have  been 
poured  out  like  water  in  the  desert,  do  not  sit  down 
and  perish  of  thirst,  but  press  on  ;  a  beautiful  oasis  is 
before  thee,  and  thou  mayst  reach  it  if  thou  wilt.  If 
another  has  been  false  to  thee,  do  not  thou  increase 
the  evil  by  being  false  to  thyself  Do  not  say  the 
world  hath  lost  its  poetry  and  beauty ;  'tis  not  so ; 
and  even  if  it  be  so,  make  thine  own  poetry  and 
beauty  by  a  brave,  a  true,  and,  above  all,  a  religious 
life. 


STORM  AT  SEA. 

The  storm  increased  with  the  night  The  sea  was 
lashed  into  tremendous  confusion.  There  was  a  fear- 
ful, sullen  sound  of  rushing  waves  and  broken  surges. 
Deep  called  unto  deep.  At  times,  the  black  volume 
of  clouds  over-head  seemed  rent  asunder  by  flashes 
of  lightning  that  quivered  along  the  foaming  billows, 
and  made  the  succeeding  darkness  doubly  terrible. 
The  thunders  belloAved  over  the  wide  waste  of  waters, 
and  were  echoed  and  prolonged  by  the  mountain 
waves.  As  I  saw  the  ship  staggering  and  phmging 
among  these  roaring  caverns,  it  seemed  miraculous 
that  she  regained  her  balance,  or  preserved  her  buoy- 


96  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

ancy.  Her  yards  would  dip  in  the  water  ;  her  how 
was  almost  buried  beneath  the  waves.  Sometimes, 
an  impending  surge  appeared  ready  to  overwhelm 
her,  and  nothing  but  a  dexterous  movement  of  the 
helm  preserved  her  from  the  shock. 

When  I  retired  to  my  cabin,  the  awful  scene  still 
followed  me.  The  whistling  of  the  wind  through  the 
rigging  sounded  like  funeral  wailings.  The  creaking 
of  the  masts,  the  straining  and  groaning  of  bulk-heads, 
as  the  ship  labored  in  the  weltering  sea,  were  frightful. 
As  I  heard  the  waves  rushing  along  the  side  of  the 
ship,  and  roaring  in  my  very  ear,  it  seemed  as  if  Death 
were  raging  round  this  floating  prison,  seeking  for  his 
prey ;  the  mere  starting  of  a  nail,  the  yawning  of  a 
seam,  might  give  him  entrance. 

W.  Irving. 

DANTE— MILTON. 

The  character  of  Milton  was  peculiarly  distm- 
guished  by  loftiness  of  thought ;  that  of  Dante  by  in- 
tensity of  feeling.  In  every  line  of  the  Divine  Comedy 
we  discern  the  asperity  which  is  produced  by  pride 
struggling  with  misery.  There  is  perhaps  no  work 
in  the  world  so  deeply  and  uniformly  sorrowful.  The 
melancholy  of  Dante  was  no  fantastic  caprice.  It 
was  not,  as  far  as  at  this  distance  of  time  can  be 
judged,  the  effect  of  external  circumstances.  It  was 
from  within.  Neither  love  nor  glory,  neither  the  con- 
flicts of  the  earth,  nor  the  hope  of  heaven,  could  dispel 
it.     It  twined  every  consolation  and  every  pleasure 


i 


PRACTICE.  97 

into  its  own  nature.  It  resembled  that  noxious  Sardi- 
nian soil  of  which  the  intense  bitterness  is  said  to  have 
been  perceptible  even  in  its  honey.  His  mind  was, 
in  the  noble  language  of  the  Hebrew  poet,  ''  a  land  of 
darkness,  as  darkness  itself,  and  where  the  light  was 
as  darkness  !"  The  gloom  of  his  character  discolors 
all  the  passions  of  men,  and  all  the  face  of  nature,  and 
tinges  with  its  own  livid  hue  the  flowers  of  paradise 
and  the  Glories  of  the  Eternal  Throne.  All  the  por- 
traits of  him  are  singularly  characteristic.  No  person 
can  look  on  the  features,  noble  even  to  ruggedness, 
the  dark  furrows  of  the  cheek,  the  haggard  and  woeful 
stare  of  the  eye,  the  sullen  and  contemptuous  curve  of 
the  lip,  and  doubt  that  they  belonged  to  a  man  too 
proud  and  too  sensitive  to  be  happy. 

Milton  was,  like  Dante,  a  statesman  and  a  lover  ; 
and,  like  Dante,  he  had  been  unfortunate  in  ambition 
and  in  love.  He  had  survived  his  health  and  his 
sight,  the  comforts  of  his  home  and  the  prosperity  of 
his  party.  Of  the  great  men  by  whom  he  had  been 
distinguished  on  his  entrance  into  life,  some  had  been 
taken  away  from  the  evil  to  come  ;  some  had  carried 
into  foreign  climates  their  unconquerable  hatred  of  op- 
pression ;  some  were  pining  in  dungeons ;  and  some 
had  poured  forth  their  blood  on  scaffolds.  That  hate- 
ful proscription — facetiously  termed  the  act  of  indem- 
nity and  oblivion— had  set  a  mark  on  the  poor,  blind, 
deserted  poet,  and  held  him  up  by  name  to  the  hatred 
of  a  profligate  Court  and  an  inconstant  people.  Ve- 
nal and  licentious  scribblers,  with  just  sufficient  talent 
to  clothe  the  thouglits  of  a  pander  in  the  style  of  a 

E 


98  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

bellman,  were  now  the  favorite  writers  of  the  sove- 
reign and  the  public.  It  was  a  loathsome  herd — 
which  could  be  compared  to  nothing,  so  fitly,  as  to  the 
rabble  of  Comus — grotesque  monsters,  half  bestial, 
half  human, — dropping  with  wine,  bloated  with  glut- 
tony, and  reeling  in  obscene  dances.  Amidst  these  his 
Muse  was  placed,  like  the  chaste  lady  of  the  Masque, 
lofty,  spotless  and  serene — to  be  chatted  at,  and  point- 
ed at,  and  grinned  at,  by  the  whole  tribe  of  Satyrs  and 
Goblins. 

If  ever  despondency  could  be  excused  in  any  man, 
it  might  have  been  excused  in  Milton.  But  the  strength 
of  his  mind  overcame  every  calamity.  Neither  blind- 
ness, nor  gout,  nor  pcrniry,  nor  age,  nor  domestic  af- 
flictions, nor  political  disappointments,  nor  abuse,  nor 
proscription,  nor  neglect,  had  power  to  disturb  his  se- 
date and  majestic  patience.  His  spirits  do  not  seem 
to  have  been  high,  but  they  were  singidarly  equable. 
His  temper  was  serious,  perhaps  stern ;  but  it  was  a 
temper  which  no  sufferings  could  render  sullen  or  fret- 
ful. Such  as  it  was,  when  on  the  eve  of  great  events 
he  returned  from  his  travels,  in  tlie  prime  of  health 
and  manly  beauty,  loaded  with  literary  distinction:^ 
and  glowing  with  patriotic  hopes,  such  it  continued  to 
be — ^when,  after  having  experienced  every  calamity 
which  is  incident  to  our  nature,  old,  poor,  sightless, 
and  disgraced,  he  retired  to  his  hovel  to  die  ! 

Macauley. 

END  OP  PART  T.  OF  SECOND   DIVISION. 


INFLECTION.  99 


SECOND    DIVISION, 


PART  11. 

INFLECTION  (coiitinued). 

We  have  hitherto  considered  the  inflections  proper 
to  simple  sentences  only.     We  now  proceed  to  some 

SPECIAL  RULES  OF  INFLECTION, 

proper  to  periods  of  peculiar  form  and  more  elaborate 
construction  ;  and  to  the  different  members  or  branches 
of  which  they  may  be  composed. 

1.  APPOSITION.— 2.  ANTITHESIS. 


1.  Apposition  in  meaning  and  construction  requires 
the  apposition  to  be  marked  by  inflection  ;  that  is — 


Words,  or  phrases,  in  apposition  with  each  other,  take  the 
suTtie  respective  inflections ; — unless  any  of  them  be  made  em- 
phatic for  force. 

EXAMPLES. 

% 
I  reside  in  New  York — a  magnificent  city. 
And  now  abideth  faith,  hope,  charity — these  three. 


100  ART  OK  ELOCCTIO.X. 

2.  Antithesis,  or  opposition  of  meaning,  requires 
antithesis  of  inflection  ;  that  is, 


Words  or  phrases  in  antithesis  to  each  other  take  opposite 
inflections. 

EXAMPLES. 

He  spoke  for,  not  against  peace. 

As  fire  is  opposed  to  water,  so  is  vice  to  virtue. 

We  seek  not  peace,  but  war ;  and  we  shall  fight,  not  pray ; 
for  we  had  rather  ^ie  than  live. 

The  ab6ve  are  examples  of  single  antithesis. 

DOUBLE    ANTITHESIS. 

In  the  following,  the  antithesis  is  double  ;  that  is, 
of  several  opposite  ideas,  and  consequently  opposite 
inflectiotis. 

EXAMPLE. 

Rational  liberty  is  directly  opposed  to  the  wildness  oT anarchy. 

{Here  rational  is  in  antithesis  to  wildness,  and 
liberty  to  anarchy :  the  injiections  on  each  respectively 
are  therefore  also  opposed.) 

FURTHER  EXAMPLES. 

If  you  seek  to  make  one  rich,  study  not  to  increase  his  stores, 
but  to  diminish  his  desires. — Seneca. 


ANTITHESIS.  101 

The  peasant  complains  aloud  ;  the  courtier  in  secret  repines. 
In  want,  what  distress  !  in  affluence,  what  satiety  !  The 
ignorant,  through  ill-grounded  hope,  are  disappointed;  the 
knowing,  through  knowledge,  despond. —  Young. 

All  flesh  is  not  the  same  flesh ;  but  there  is  one  kind  of  flesh 
of  men.  another  flesh  of  beasts.''-  another  of  fishes,  and  another 
of  birds. 

There  are  also  celestial  bodies,  and  bodies  terrestrial :  but 
the  glory  of  the  celestial  is  one.  and  the  glory  of  the  terrestrial 
is  anotlier. — 1  Cor.  c.  15. 

Note  also  the  melody  that  is  produced  to  the  ear  by  tliis  anti- 
thetical alternation  of  inflection  ;  which  thus  has  the  etTect,  not 
only  of  logically  increasing  the  force  and  power  of  the  contrast 
of  ideas,  by  contrast  of  pitch,  but,  at  the  same  time,  of  pleasing 
the  ear  by  an  agreeable  variety  of  tone. 

IMPLIED    ANTITHESIS. 

Antithesis  ma}-  be  implied,  when  not  expressed ;  in  which 
case  the  sense  is  left  unfinished,  (as  it  were,)  and,  consequently, 
is  marked  with  the  rising  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

He  is  a  good  boy,  James. 

{Implying  that  some  other  boy  is  a  bad  one.) 

You  ask  too  much  money ;  I'll  give  you  a  dollar. 

[Implying,  "  but  not  any  more.") 

I'd  give  a  hundred  dollars  for  such  a  horse  as  that. 

[ImiAying,  '•  but  not  for  an  inferior  one.") 


102  AKT    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Presumptuous  man  !  the  Gods  take  care  of  Cato  I 
{Implying^  "  more  immediately  than  of  other  men.") 

THE   APPOSITIOX  OF  ANTITHESIS. 

Words  in  antithesis  to  each  other ^  may  form  an  an- 
tithetical member  in  apposition  with  a  sncceeding  an- 
tithesis ;  in  which  case  both  the  preceding  rules  of  in- 
flection apply  :  that  is, 


The  words  in  antithesis  have  opposite  inflections ;  the  anti- 
theticaJ  members  in  apposition  have  respectively  the  same  in- 
flections. 


Vire  and  water^  are  not  more  opposed  '  than  vice  and  virtue 

[Here,  fire  and  water  are  in  antithesis, — so  are  vice 
and  virtue  ;  but  the  antithetical  phrase  fire  and  water 
is  clearly  in  apposition  loith  the  jihrase  vice  and  vir- 
tue ;  the  above  rule  applies.) 

EMPHASIS  OF  ANTITHESIS. 

{See  ante,  Emphasis  of  Sense.) 

Words  and  members  in  antithesis  are  (as  a  general  rule) 
marlied  by  the  emphasis  of  sense  ;  that  is,  the  inflections  are 
marked  with  additional  weight ; — this  emphasis  may  be  desig- 
nated as  Antithetical  Emphasis. 

But  the  emphasis  oi  force  is  sometimes  used  in  one  member 
of  the  antithesis  to  give  additional  strength  to  it. 


The  antithesis  is  so  frequent,  and  at  the  same  time 


k 


INVERTED    SENTENCES.  103 

SO  powerful  a  form  of  Rhetoric,  that  it  deserves  the 
best  attention  of  the  Elocutionist;  and  he  should 
therefore  make  himself  thoroughly  master  of  this 
branch  of  our  subject. 

(See  Series — Antithetical  Series.) 


INVERTED  SENTENCES. 
RULE. 

In  an  inverted  sentence,  the  inverted  members  take  the  inflec- 
tions respectively  proper,  in  the  direct  sentence,  to  the  mem- 
bers in  whose  place  tliey  stand. 

EXAMPLE. 

Direct.  He  strictly  enforces"^  both  by  precept  and  example'^- 

the  laws  of  religion  and  morality^  inculcated  in  the 

Gospel. 
Inverted.  The  laws  of  religion  and  morality"'  inculcated  in 

the  Gospel'-  he  strictly  enforces"' both  by  precept 

and  example. 

EXCEPTION. 

The  only  exception  to  this  rule  is  made  by  the  Emphasis  of 
force,  the  inflection  of  which  is  paramount,  and  never  changes, 
however  much  the  position  of  the  word  on  which  it  falls,  may 
be  changed  by  inversion. 

EXAMPLE. 

Direct.  Our  sight"  is  the  most  perfect  of  all  our  senges. 


104  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Inverted.  Of  all  our  senses  our  sight"^  is  the  most  perfect. 

Or,  ^  ^  ^ 

The  most  perfect  of  all  our  senses  is  our  sight. 

Here,  by  throwing  the  Emphasis  of  force  upon  the  word 
sight,  we  mark  it  strongly  on  the  hearer's  mind ;  and  supposing 
that  to  be  the  speaker's  object,  no  transposition  of  the  word  will 
relieve  it  from  that  Emphasis.  But  if  it  be  merely  an  indiffer- 
ent and  abstract  remark,  it  would  be  subject  to  the  above  rule  as 
to  inversion,  and  be  thus  marked : 

Our  sight  is  the  most  perfect  of  all  our  senses. 
Of  all  our  senses,  our  sight  is  the  most  perfect. 
The  most  perfect  of  all  our  senses  is  our  sight. 


CONDITIONAL  SENTFNCES. 

The  addition  of  a  condition  to  an  affirmative,  re- 
quires the  rising  inflection  ;  which  marks  the  uncer- 
tainty raised  by  the  condition  attached,  as — 

He  said  he  would  call  if  you  icould  consent  to  see  him. 

He  shall  live,  if  I  have  ])ower  to  save  him. 

Doctrines  must  be  embodied,  hr/nre  tJiey  can  excite  strong 
public  Jeeling. 

Observe  that  the  simple  affirmative  in  this  form  of  sentence 
retains  the  falling  infection;  it  is  the  condition  that  receives 
the  rise. 


EXCLABIATION.  105 


EXCLAMATION. 


INTERJECTIONAL  PHRASES 

Of  Exclamation — as  : 

Oh  Rome  !  how  art  thou  fallen  ! 

Apostrophe — as : 

Sweet  sleep !  how  have  1  frighted  thee ! 
Daughter  of  Jove  !  relentless  power ! 

Pity  and  son^ow — as  : 

Alas  !  my  friend !  woe  is  me  ! 

and  the  like — are  marked  with  the  rising  inflection. 
(^Except  always  when  under  the  Emphasis  of  force.') 
But  Entire 

EXCLAMATORY  SENTENCES 

are  closed  with  the  falling  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

Oh !  Rome !  how  art  thou  fallen  ! 

Thanks  to  the  Gods !  my  boy  has  done  his  duty ! 

Woe  is  me !  my  heart  is  broken ! 

Alas,  my  friend  !  how  much  I  pity  you  ! 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank ! 


PARENTHESIS. PARENTHETICAL  MEMBERS. 

Strictly  speaking,  a  parenthesis  is  an  interruption 

E* 


106  ART    OF    ELOCTJTION. 

or  suspension  of  the  sense  of  the  main  sentence,  (as 
is  manifest  from  the  derivation — ■ra^a-sv-ri^rj/xi) ;  and 
therefore  members  which  are  added  to  the  sentence 
after  the  sense  is  completed,  are  not  parenthetical 
(although  they  may  be  -marked  in  parenthesis),  but 
rather  ca^a-thetical — if  such  a  word  may  be  used — 

The  very  sentence  I  have  just  written  furnishes  an 
illustration  of  the  distinction  I  wish  to  make  ;  in 
which,  the  first  passage  marked  in  parenthesis  is  7iot 
(strictly)  a  parenthesis,  for  it  does  not  suspend  or  in- 
terrupt— though  it  confirms  and  explains  the  preceding 
part  of  the  main  sentence  ;  but  the  second  passage 
marked  in  parenthesis  is  correctly  so  marked,  for  it 
interrupts  and  suspends  the  sense  of  the  main  sen- 
tence. Again,  the  last  phrase  in  the  same  sentence — 
marked  between  two  dashes — occurring  at  the  close 
of  the  main  sense,  is  not  parenthetical  (though  it 
might  be  marked  ordinarily  in  parenthesis),  but 
rather  ca^a-thetical — that  is,  tacked  to  the  main 
sentence. 

But  in  common  use  and  acceptation,  all  the  above 
phrases  would  be  called  parenthetical, — without  re- 
ference to  their  being  an  interruption  of^  or  merely  an 
addition  to,  the  sense  ;  and  therefore  I  shall  arrange 
the  Elocutionary  rules  for  reading  parenthesis  accord- 
ing to  the  common  and  popular  definition  of  the  term. 
Hence  the  folio  wins: 


1.  A  parenthesis  must  have  its  commencement  and  continu- 
ance indicated  by  a  change  to  a  somewhat  lower  tone  of  voice 


PARENTHESIS.  107 

and  a  quicker  movement ;  and  the  close  of  the  parenthesis  is 
marked  by  a  return  to  the  same  time,  pitch  and  inflection  of 
voice  as  the  sense  had  at  the  point  immediately  preceding  the 
parenthesis :  so  that, 

2.  If  the  sense  of  the  main  sentence  be  suspended  and  inter- 
rupted by  parenthesis,  its  close  shall  be  marked  with  the  rising 
inflection :  if  the  sense  of  the  main  sentence  be  complete,  the 
parenthesis  shall  be  closed  with  the  falling  mflection. 

Note. — The  more  logical  form  of  these  rules  would  be  thus — 
If  the  parenthetical  members  suspend  the  sense,  they  shall  be 
read  with  suspension :  if  they  do  not,  they  shall  be  read  as  in- 
dependent members. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Parenthesis  suspending  the  sense. 

Gentlemen,  if  I  make  out  this  case  by  evidence,  (and  if  1 
do  not,  forget  everj^  thing  you  have  heard,  and  reproach  me  for 
having  abused  your  honest  feelings,)  I  have  established  a  claim 
for  damages  that  has  no  parallel. — ErsMne. 

If  there's  a  Power  above,  (and  that  there  is 
All  nature  cries  aloud  in  all  her  works,) 
He  must  delight  in  virtue. 

2.  Parenthesis — in  addition  without  a  suspension. 

Now  the  works  of  the  flesh  are  manifest, — which  are  these, 
&c. 

I  hope  to  be  pardoned  for  yielding  to  this  high  authority,  in 
preference  to  submitting  my  judgment  to  the  opinion  of  those 
who  now  deny  the  power  (however  respectable  that  opinion 
may  be.) 


108  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 


EXCEPTION. 


This  rule  is  (like  all  others)  subject  to  be  varied  by  the  in- 
flection of  the  Emphasis  of  force — which,  occurring  in  the  pa- 
renthesis, over-rules  the  inflection  proper  to  suspension ;  as  in 
the  following  passage  from  Mr.  Burke's  speech  on  the  impeach- 
ment of  Warren  Hastings : 

EXAMPLE. 

Growing  from  crime  to  crime,  ripened  by  cruelty  for  cruelty, 
these  fiends,  at  length,  outraging  sex,  decency,  nature,  applied 
lighted  torches  and  slow  fire — (I  cannot  proceed  for  shame  and 
horror !) — these  infernal  furies  planted  death  in  the  source  of 
hfe,  &c. 

Here,  though  the  sense  is  suddenly  broken  and  suspended  by 
the  introduction  of  the  parenthesis,  yet,  as  the  closing  phrase  of 
that  parenthesis  is  marked  with  the  emphasis  of  force,  it  is  an 
exception  to  the  general  rule,  which  would  otherwise  require  a 
rising  inflection  to  mark  the  suspension  of  the  sense. 


PRONOUNS PRONOMINAL  PHRASE. 

We  are  taught  in  Grammar  that  a  pronoun  is  used 
to  avoid  the  repetition  of  a  noun. 

In  Elocution,  when  the  noun  is  repeated,  and  the  use 
of  the  pronoun  rejected,  we  call  the  word  so  repeated 
pronominal  ;  that  is,  of  the  nature,  or  in  place  of  a 
pronoun  ;  as. 

He  advanced  the  doctrine ;  he  maintained  the  doctrine ;  he 
propagated  the  doctrine. 

In  this  example,  "  the  doctrine,'^  in  every  instance 


i 


PRONOMINAL   PHRASE,  10& 

of  its  repetition^  is  clearly  pronomitial ;  standing  in 
place  of  the  pronoun  "  it."  For,  according  to  the 
usual  construction  of  such  a  sentence,  it  would  have 
stood — 

He  advanced  the  doctrine ;  he  maintained  it ;  he  propagated  it. 

Hence,  being  sO'  nearly  of  the  same  nature,  they  fol- 
low the  same  rule  of  Elocution  :  viz. 


Pronouns  and  pronominal  phrases  have  no  proper  inflection ; 
but  merge  in  that  of  the  inflected  word  with  which  they  stand. 

EXAMPLES. 

(The  pronouns  and  pronominal  phrases  are  in  brackets.} 

Henry  told  [me]  the  truth  [about  it]. 

I  asked  [him]  if  he  had  finished  [it]. 

[It]  struck  [me]  that  I  had  seen  [him]  before. 

In  these  sentences^  the  pronouns  have  no  inflection  ; 
but  are  subjected  to,  and  over-ridden  by  the  inflection 
of  the  word  which  governs  them,  or  to  which  they  are 
immediately  allied.     So  of  a  pronominal  phrase. 

EXAMPLES. 

As  you  have  shown  mercy,  you  shall  receive  [mercy]. 
Your  cruelty  merits  [cruelty]. 
Your  goodness  deserves  [goodness]. 
He  repaid  your  kindness  with  [kindness]. 

We  observe  that  the  pronominal  phrase  in  each  in- 


110  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Stance  follows  the  rule  on  the  pronoun  ;  and  is  sub- 
jected to  the  inflection  of  the  verb  or  preposition  by 
which  it  is  governed. 

Except 

Demonstrative  and  interrogative  pronouns  ;*  and  pronouns  or 
pronominal  phrases  when  emphatic :  as, 

This  is  my  book,  not  tliat. 
Who  said  so  1     What  did  he  say  ? 
Henry  told  me  the  truth. 
I  warned  him  :  he^saved  me. 
He  is  a  good  boy''  James. 

COMMON  PHRASE  {qtittsi  pronominal.) 

The  same  rule  applies  to  the  repetition  of  ajiy  phrase  which 
is  common  to  two  or  more  verbs,  adverbs,  &c.  Such  repeated 
common  phrase  is  read  as  pronominal. 

EXAMPLES. 

He  speaks  truly,  and  [he  speaks]  -wisely. 

It  was  truly  said,  and  wisely  [said]. 

If  we  live  in  the  spirit,  let  us  also  walk  [in  the  spirit]. 

PRONOMINAL  PHRASE  in  reply. 

The  rule  holds,  also,  on  repetition  of  a  common  phrase  in  re- 
ply, in  dialogue, — or  in  reference  to  previously  spoken  words  by 
another  party. 

*  Pronouns  of  these  two  classes  are  generally  empJiaiic,  and 
therefore  the  exception. 


PRONOMINAL    THKASE EMPHASIS.  Ill 

EXAMPLE. 

Question.  Is  that  your  firm  opinion  ? 
Reply.  It  i.s  '  [my  firm  opinion.] 

Nor  need  the  repetition  be  Literal ;  if  the  idea  or  sense  be  re- 
peated, the  phrase  is  read  as  pronommal. 

EXAMPLE. 

The  gentleman  boasts  that  he  is  actuated  by  motives  the 
most  pure  and  honorable.  Sir,  the  boast  is  needless ;  Who 
questioned"'  [his  integrity  and  honor]  ? 

EMPHASIS  with  pronominal  phrase. 

It  will  be  observed  that  tlie  verb  or  other  word 
governing,  or  in  conjunction  with,  the  pronominal 
phrase,  becomes  emphatic :  this  is  made  still  more 
clear  in  the  case  of  a  negative  with  such  phrase. 

EXAMPLES. 

To  be,  or  not'^  to  be  ? 

Question.  Why  do  you  express  yourself  so  angrily  ? 

Reply.  I  did  not'  [express  myself  angrily]. 

The  gentleman  insinuates  that  I  have  acted  a  double  part, 
and  therefore  forfeited  the  confidence  of  the  house.  Sir,  if  I 
had  [done  so]  I  should  deserve  [to  lose  your  confidence],  but  I 
shall  prove  that  I  have  not  [acted  as  he  says]  ;  and  therefore  I 
expect  to  retain  [your  good  opinion],  (oy)  to  retain  your  good 
opinion. 


112  ART    CF    ELOCUTIU.V. 

This  Emphasis  belongs   to  '•'  The  Emphasis  of 
Sense,    {see   ante,  Emphasis,)  and  may  be  distin- 
guished as  the  •'  Emphasis  with  pronominal  phrase." 
^See  Serjes — Pronominal  Series.'] 


SERIAL  SENTENCES. 

The  Series,  in  rhetoric,  (a  succession  of  words  or 
phrases  linked  together  in  construction,)  constantly 
occurs  ;  its  delivery  puzzles  the  reader  who  has  no 
certain  rule  to  guide  him, — and  his,  consequently, 
confused  and  unconnected  manner,  in  turn,  puzzles 
his  hearers. 

There  are,  therefore,  Rules  in  Elocution  for  the  de- 
livery of  serial  sentences, — certain  and  easy. 

FORM  OF  series. 

The  Series  is — (first), 

1.  SIMPLE. 2.  COMPOUND. 

1.  tSimple,  when  it  consists  of  single  words  (or  sin- 
gle ideas)  in  succession. 

2.  Compound,  when  it  is  composed  of  members  in 
succession,  each  composed  of  several  words — convey- 
ing several  ideas. 

These,  again,  are — (second,) 

1.  COMMENCING. — 2.  CONCLUDING. 

1.  Com^mencing,  when  they  commence  a  sentence, 
or  where  the  sense  is  unfinished  at  their  close. 


F0R3I    OF    SEPaES.  113 

2.  Concluding,  Avhen  they  conclude  or  perfect  the 
sense. 

EXAMPLES. 

Simple,  commencing,  Series. 

Faith,  hope,  and  charity, 

are  cardinal  virtues. 

May  faith,  hope,  charity,  peace,  and  patience 

possess  our  soula. 

Simple,  concluding. 

The  cardinal  virtues  are 

faith,  hope,  and  charity. 

May  our  souls  be  possessed  with 

faith,  hope,  charity,  peace,  and  patience. 

Compound,  commencing  Series. 

An  amiable  disposition,  virtuous  principles,  a  liberal  educa- 
tion, and  industrious  habits, 

lead  to  contentment,  happiness,  and  honor. 

Compound,  concluding. 

Contentment  happiness,  and  honor,  are  the  reward  of 

an  amiable  disposition,  virtuous  principles,  a  liberal  ed- 
ucation, and  industrious  habits. 

We  have  also  the 

Negative  Series, 

Interrogative  Series, 

Antithetical  Series, 
and  other  variations  on  the  regular  series,  which  we 
shall  take  in  their  proper  order. 

So  much  for  the  rhetorical  form  of  the  Series  ;  now 
we  proceed  to  the  Elocutionary 


114  ART  OF  ELOCUTION^ 

Rules  for  Inflection  qftJie  Series* 

1.  A  sitnple,  commencing  Series 

takes  a  rising  inflection  on  every  member  of  the  Series  except 
the  penultimate  {or  last  but  one),  which  has  a  falling  inflection, 

EXAMPLES. 

^h,'^  (1) 
h^e."  (2) 

and  charity,"^  (3) 

are  cardinal  virtues. 

May  faith,'^  (1) 
hSje,^  (2) 

diarity,"^  (3) 
peace,^  (4) 

and  patience,*^  (5) 
possess  our  souls. 
[For  the  pause  proper  to  Series,  see  ante,  PAtJSB.] 

2.  A  simple,  concluding  Series 

takes  a  rising  inflection  on  every  member  of  the  series  but  tk& 
last. 

SXAMPLES^ 

The  cardinal  virtues  are, 
Ifiiith,'^  (1) 
h^e,-^  (2) 

«uid  chanty.  (3) 


INFLECTION    ON    SERIES.  I  IS 


May  our  souls  be  possessed  with 
fai^,-^  (1) 

hS^er  (2) 

cfiarity,'^  (3) 
peace,"  (4) 

and  patience !  (5) 


COMPOUND   SERIES. 

1.  Commencing,  takes  a.  Jailing  inflection  on  every  member 
but  the  last. 

EXAMTPLB. 

A  good  disposition,'^-  (1) 
virtuous  principles,'^-  (2) 

a  liberal  education,''-  (3) 

and  industrious  habits,""^  (4) 

are  passports  to  happiness  and  honor. 

2.  Concluding,  takes  the  falling  inflection  on  every  membet 
but  the  penultimaie, 

EXAMPLE. 

'Contentment,*'  happiness,*"  and  honor,*"  reward 
a  good  disposition,*'-  (1) 

virtuous  principles,*'-  (2) 

a  liberal  education,*'-  (3) 

And  industrious  habits.  (4) 


116  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

DIVISION    OF    A   LONG    SIMPLE    SERIES. 
RULE. 

When  a  simple  series  exceeds  five  members,  aiviae  the  whole 
into  two  or  more  shorter  series ;  and  read  the  divisions  accord- 
ing to  rule, — marking  each  division  with  the  middle  pause. 

EXAMPLK. 

The  works  of  the  flesh  are  manifest ;  which  are  these : 
Adultery j*^  fornication,''  uncleanness,*'  lasciviousness,*^ 
idolatry,"^  witchcraft.,''  hatred,''  variaacej^L 
emulations,''  wrath,''  strife,''  seditions,''  heresies,''- 
envyings,''  murders,''  drunkenness,''  reveUings,''  and 
such  Hke. — Gal. 

In  a  series  of  so  many  members  as  this^the  division 
(as  above)  prevents  that  luipleasing  and  catalogue- 
like monotony,  which  is  produced  by  reading  the 
whole  as  one  series,  with  an  unbroken  succession  of 
rising  inflections.  The  division  is  of  course  arbitrary, 
as  to  the  number  of  members  which  may  be  allotted 
to  each  division  ;  but  the  object  to  be  aimed  at  in  the 
separation  of  the  members  is  a  distinct  classification  ; 
so  that  things,  objects  or  ideas,  resembling  or  allied  to 
each  other  in  quality  or  degree,  shall  be  kept  together, 
and  not  be  thrown  in  confusedly  with  others  of  a  dif- 
ferent nature. 

Now,  in  the  above  example,  such  a  distinct  classi- 
fication is  rendered  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  the 
reader,  by  the  absence  of  order  and  classification  in 
the  passage  itself.     It  may  indeed  be  remarked,  with 


i 


INFLECTION    ON    SERIES.  117 

the  greatest  respect,  that  great  confusion  is  caused  to 
the  mind  by  the  indiscriminately  throwing  together  a 
series  of  offences  very  widely  differing  from  each 
other  in  quahty  and  degree  ;  and  the  climax  of  the 
whole  is  enfeebled,  if  not  destroyed,  by  the  addition  of 
"  drunkenness  and  revellings,"  after  the  high  crime  of 
murder.  As  that  crime  is  the  climax  of  the  works  of 
the  flesh,  what  follows  weakens  the  effect,  and  is,  in 
fact,  an  anti-climax.  I  am  now  analyzing  it  merely  as 
a  piece  (£  composition^  and  for  the  purpose  of  making 
my  meaning  more  clear,  suppose  the  passage  to  have 
stood  as  follows : 

The  works  of  the  flesh  are  manifest;  which  are  these : 
Fornication,"'  adultery,"^  uncleanness,*"  lasciviousness,*'- 
witchcraft''  lieresy"^  idolatry"'- 

emulations"^  envy''  variance"  hatred''- 
wrath''  strife''  seditions*' 
revellings*'  drunkenness"^  murders*'- 
«nd  such  like. 

By  this  arrangement,  the  classification  of  crime  would 
have  been  clear  and  perfect,  gradually  growing  and 
increasing  in  power  up  to  the  climax — murder^ — the 
last  dread  work  %f  thefiesh.  And  it  is  to  aid  this  lo- 
gical arrangement,  classification  and  progression,  that 
the  rules  for  reading  the  series  are  given.  In  the  fol- 
lowing series  the  classification  is  distinct  and  i^erfect 
as  it  is  written,  and  it  will  be  felt  that  the  elocution- 
ary arrangement  and  inflections  verv  much  aid  it : 


118  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

For  I  am  persuaded  that 

neither  death""  nor  hfe"^- 
nor  angels"'  nor  principalities^  nor  powers'^- 
nor  things  presenf  nor  things  to  come"'- 
nor  height""  nor  depth""  nor  any  other  creature""- 
shall  be  able  to  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God,  which  is  in 
Christ  Jesus  our  Lord.  Romans,  c.  viii. 


IRREGULAR  SERIES. 

A  series  is  frequently  irregular, — that  is,  in  part 
simj)le,  and  in  part  coinpound.     In  such  cases : 

RULE. 

Separate  and  class  the  simple  and  compound  members, — and 
read  them  in  series  according  to  their  respective  rules. 

EXAMPLES. 

All  the  circumstances  and  ages  of  men,""- 

poverty,*'  riches,""  youth,""  old  age,"'- 
aU  the  dispositions  and  passions,"' 

melancholy,"'  love,""  grief,"'  contentment,*^ 
are  capable  of  being  personified  in   poetry,   with  great  pro- 
priety.— Blair. 

2.  Neither  blindness,""  nor  gout,""  nor  age,""  nor  penury ,"■- 
nor  domestic  afflictions,"*  nor  political  disappointments,"'- 
nor  abuse,"'  nor  proscription,""  nor  neglect,""- 
had  power"^  to  disturb  his  sedate  and  majestic  patience. 

Macauley 


EXERCISES   ON    SERIES.  119 

Besides  the  injlections  proper  to  a  series,  increasing 
force  should  be  given  to  the  delivery  of  each  addition- 
al member ;  so  that  the  sound  and  volume  of  voice 
shall  swell  and  increase  in  the  same  proportion  as  the 
sense  grows  and  is  amplified, — until  both  reach  the 
climax  together.  This  will  be  more  fully  explained 
and  illustrated  in  the  Third  Division,  under  the  head 
of  Intonation.  The  reader  may  now  practise  the 
following 

EXERCISE      ON  SERIES. 

1.  If  you  look  about  you,  and  consider  the  lives  of  others  as 
well  as  your  own ;  if  you  think  how  few  are  born  with  honor, 
and  how  many  die  without  name  or  children  ;  how  little  beauty 
we  see,  and  how  few  friends  we  hear  of;  how  many  diseases 
and  how  much  poverty  there  is  in  the  world ; 

you  will  fall  down  upon  your  knees  ; 
and,  instead  of  repining  at  one  infliction,  will  admire 
so  many  blessings  you  have  received  at  the  hand  of  God ! 

2.  It  was  a  loathsome  herd, — which  could  be  compared  to 
nothing  so  fitly  as  to  the  rabble  of  Comus, — 

Grotesque  monsters, — 

half  human,  half  bestial, — 
dropping  with  wine, 

bloated  with  gluttony, 

and  reeling  in  obscene  dances. 

3.  This  decency,  this  grace,  this  propriety  of  manners  to 
character,  is  so  essential  to  princes  in  particular,  that,  whenever 
it  is  neglected,  their  virtues  lose  a  great  degree  of  lustre,  and 
their  defects  acquire  much  aggravation.     Nay,  more ;  by  neg- 


120  ART   OF   ELOCtmOW. 

Jecting  this  decency,  and  this  grace,  and  for  want  of  a  suffici- 
ent regard  to  appearances,  even  their  virtues  may  betray  them 
into  failings,  their  failings  into  vices,  and  their  vices  into  habits 
unworthy  of  princes  and  of  men. 


Negative  series :  (as  a  simple  concluding  series.) 


A  series  of  negative  members  is  read  with  a  rising  inflection 
on  every  member  but  the  last :  (note,  that  the  inflection  falls 
on  the  word  or  thing  negatived.) 

EXAMPLE. 

Charity  envieth  not"^  charity  vaunteth  not  itself*^  is  not  puffed 

up;"- 
Doth  not  behave  itself  unseemly"^  seeketh  not  her  own'^  is  not 
easily  provoked'^  thinketh  no  evil. — 1  Cor.  c.  xiii. 


INTERROGATIVE  SERIES. 
A  series  of  interrogations  may  be  read  either 

1.  Under  the  rule  for  single  Q,uestions,  see  p.  81 ;  or, 

2.  With  the  same  inflections  as  simple  concluding  series;  or, 

3.  As  the  compound  concluding  series. 

It  is  well,  in  delivery,  to  vaiy  them,  when  they  occur  fre- 
quently, or  when  several  series  follow  closely  on  each  other. 
For  example,  the  following,  from  Romans,  c.  viii.,  admits  of 
tyeing  read  under  either  of  the  three  rules : 

1.  As  single  interrogations : 

Who  shall  separate  us  from  the  cross  of  Clirist  ?''-  Shall 


ANTITHETICAL    SERIES.  121 

tribulation"^-  or  distress'-  or  persecution"'-  or  famine"^-  or 
naiCedness'^-  or  the  sword'-? 

Thus  read,  great  and  equal  force  is  given  to  each  interroga- 
tion ;  but  there  is  no  climax. 

2.  With  the  same  inflections  as  the  simple  concluding  Series : 

Shall   tribulation"-   or   distress"-    or  persecution"-  or 

famine'^-  or  nakedness"-  or  the  sword  1 

Thus  read,  the  climax  is  made,  by  the  falling'  inflection,  on 
the  sword;  as  if  he  said,  or  even  the  sicord  itself;  that  is.  the 
fiercest  and  bloodiest  violence  and  persecution. 

3.  As  the  compound  concluding  Series: 

Shall   tribulation"'-  or  distress"-   or  persecution"-  or 
famine'^-  or  nakedness"-  or  the  sword  ? 

So  read,  it  amounts  to  a  declaration, — put  interrogatively, — 
that  none  of  the  evils  enumerated  are  of  power  to  separate  the 
Christian  from  the  Cross ; — and  there  is  much  force  in  this 
reading. 

I  should,  myself,  prefer  the  second  reading  given,  as  convey- 
ing the  most  forcible  contempt  for  persecution.  But  the  choice 
is  a  matter  of  taste. 


ANTITHETICAL    SERIES. 

[(See  aiite,  "  Antithesis."] 

An  Antithetical  Series — that  is,  a  series  of  members  in  An- 
tithesis— commencing  or  concluding — is  read  under  the  same 
rules  of  inflection  as  the  Compound  Series ;  each  perfect  anti- 
thesis— and  not  each  branch  of  \i— forming  a  member  of  the 
series. 

F 


123  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

EXAMPLES. 

Antithetical  Series— (single  Antithesis) 

Commencing  and  Concluding. 
Commencing.    Fire  and  water"^  oil  and  vinegar"^  heat  and  coM" 
light  and  darkness"^- 

are  not  more  opposed  to  each  other,  than  ia 
Concluding,    honesty  to  fraud"'  or  vice  to  virtue. 

Double  Antithetical  Series — (double  Antithesis.) 

Commencing. 

Prudent  in  debate"'  but  rash  in  action""- 

moderate  in  peace"*  vindictive  in  war"'- 

patient  in  adversity"  overbearing  in  prosperity"- 

his  character  was  a  compound  of  singular  contradictions. 

CoTicluding. 
He  presented  the  contradictory  character  of  a  man 
prudent  in  debate"'  but  rash  in  action"'- 
moderate  in  peace"'  vindictive  in  war"^- 
patient  in  adversity"'  overbearing  in  prosperity. 

Note. — In  this  last  species  of  Series,  the  middle  pause  has 
place  after  each  member  ;  that  is,  after  each  perfect  antithesis. 


PRONOMINAL    SERIES. 

[^See  ante,  Pronominal  Phrase.] 

A  series  of  verbs  or  other  parts  of  spoccli  liaving,  in  con- 
cordance, the  same  pronoun  or  pronominal  phrase  (or  quasi 


PRONOMIXAL    SERIES.  123 

pronominal  phrase  )  in  Series  is  read  with  the  inflections  proper 
to  simple  series  (for  the  pronouns  and  pronominal  phrases  have 
no  inflection.) 

EXAMPLES. 

I  told  [him].  I  warned  [him]  I  advised  [him]  I  implored  [him] 
to  act  with  [you]  near  [you]  through  [you]  under  [you]. 

He  speaks  clearly  [he  speaks]  truly  [he  spealis]  boldly. 

Charity  beareth  all  things,  believeth  [all  tilings]  hopeth  [all 
things]  endureth  [all  things]. 

When  I  was  a  child,  I  spake  [as  a  child]  I  understood  [aa  a 
child]  I  thought  [as  a  child]. 


124  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 


PRACTICE 

ON 

PART  II.  OF  THE  SECOND  DIVISION. 


EXTRACT  FROM  A  SPEECH  OF  THE  HON.  HENRY 
CLAY,  ON  THE  EMANCIPATION  OP  SOUTH 
AMERICA. 

Thus,  upon  the  ground  of  strict  right,  upon  the 
footing  of  a  mere  legal  question  governed  by  forensic 
rules,  the  Colonies,  being  absolved  by  the  acts  of  the 
parent  country  from  the  duty  of  subjection  to  it,  had 
an  indisputable  right  to  set  up  for  themselves. 

But,  sir,  I  take  a  broader  and  a  bolder  position.  I 
maintain  that  an  oppressed  people  are  authorized, 
whenever  they  can,  to  rise  and  break  their  fetters. 
This  was  the  great  principle  of  the  English  revolu- 
tion ;  it  was  the  great  principle  of  our  own.  We  must 
pass  sentence  of  condemnation  upon  the  founders  of 
our  liberty — say  that  they  were  rebels,  traitors — and 
that  we  are,  this  moment,  legislating  without  compe- 
tent powers,  before  we  can  condemn  the  cause  of 
Spanish  America.  Our  revolution  was  mainly  direct- 
ed against  the  mere  theory  of  tyranny.  Our  intrepid 
and  intelligent  fathers  saw,  in  the  usurpation  of  the 


PRACTICE PAKT    II.  125 

power  to  levy  an  inconsiderable  tax,  the  long  train  of 
oppressive  acts  that  were  to  follow.  They  rose — they 
breasted  the  storm — they  achieved  our  freedom  ! 
Spanish  America,  for  centuries,  has  been  doomed  to 
the  practical  effects  of  an  odious  tyranny.  If  we  were 
justified,  she  is  more  than  justified. 

I  am  no  propagandist.  I  would  not  seek  to  force 
upon  other  nations  our  principles  and  our  liberty,  if 
they  do  not  want  them.  I  would  not  disturb  the  re- 
pose even  of  a  detestable  despotism.  But  if  an  abused 
and  oppressed  people  will  their  freedom ;  if  they  seek 
to  establish  it ;  if,  in  truth,  they  have  established  it, 
"we  have  a  right,  as  a  sovereign  power,  to  notice  the 
fact,  and  to  act  as  circumstances  and  our  interest  re- 
quire. I  will  say,  in  the  language  of  the  venerated 
father  of  my  country,  "  Born  in  a  land  of  liberty,  my 
anxious  recollections,  my  sympathetic  feelings,  and 
my  best  wishes,  are  irresistibly  excited,  whensoever,  in 
any  country,  I  see  an  oppressed  nation  unfurl  the  ban- 
ners of  freedom."  Whenever  I  think  of  Spanish 
America,  the  image  irresistibly  forces  itself  upon  my 
mind  of  an  elder  brother  whose  education  has  been 
neglected,  whose  person  has  been  abused  and  mal- 
treated, and  who  has  been  disinherited  by  the  unkind- 
iiess  of  an  unnatural  parent.  And  when  I  contemplate 
the  glorious  struggle  which  that  country  is  now 
making,  I  think  I  behold  that  brother  rising  by  the 
power  and  energy  of  his  fine  native  genius  to  the 
manly  rank  which  nature  and  nature's  God  intended 
for  him. 


126  ART  OF  ELOCUTIOX. 


THE  MATERIAL  AND  SPIRITUAL  IN  POETRY. 

Of  all  the  poets  who  have  introduced  into  their 
works  the  agency  of  supernatural  beings,  Milton  has 
succeeded  best.  Here  Dante  decidedly  yields  to  him. 
And,  as  this  is  a  point  on  which  many  rash  and  ill- 
considered  judgments  have  been  pronounced,  we  feel 
inclined  to  dwell  on  it  a  little  longer.  The  most  fatal 
error  which  a  poet  can  possibly  commit  in  the  man- 
agement of  his  machinery,  is  that  of  attempting  to 
philosophize  too  much.  Milton  has  been  often  cen- 
sured for  ascribing  to  spirits  many  functions  of  which 
spirits  must  be  incapable.  But  these  objections,  though 
sanctioned  by  eminent  names,  originate  (we  venture 
to  say)  in  profound  ignorance  of  the  art  of  poetry. 
What  is  spirit  ?  What  are  our  own  minds — the  portion 
of  spirit  with  which  we  are  best  acquainted  ?  We  ob- 
serve certain  phenomena.  We  cannot  explain  them 
into  material  causes  :  we,  therefore,  infer  that  there 
exists  something  which  is  not  material.  But  of  this 
something  we  have  no  idea.  We  can  define  it  only 
by  negatives.  We  can  reason  about  it  only  by  sym- 
bols. We  use  the  word,  but  we  have  no  image  of  the 
thing  :  and  the  business  of  poetry  is  with  images,  and 
not  with  words.  The  poet  uses  words,  indeed  ;  but 
they  are  merely  instruments  of  his  art,  not  its  objects. 
They  are  the  materials  which  he  is  to  dispose  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  present  a  picture  to  the  mental  eye. 
And  if  they  are  not  so  disposed,  they  are  no  more  en- 


PRACTICE PART    II.  127 

titled  to  be  called  poetry,  than  a  bale  of  canvas  and  a 
box  of  colors  are  to  be  called  a  painting. 

Logicians  may  reason  about  abstractions,  but  the 
^reat  mass  of  mankind  can  never  feel  an  interest  in 
them.  They  must  have  linages.  The  strong  tendency 
of  the  multitude,  in  all  ages  and  nations,  to  idolatry, 
can  be  explained  on  no  other  principle.  The  first  in- 
habitants of  Greece,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe, 
worshipped  an  invisible  Deity.  But  the  necessity  of 
having  something  more  definite  to  adore,  produced,  in 
a  few  centuries,  the  innumerable  crowd  of  gods  and 
goddes.ses.  The  history  of  the  Jews  is  the  record  of 
a  continual  struggle  between  pure  Theism,  supported 
by  the  most  terrible  sanctions,  and  the  strangely  fas- 
cinating desire  of  having  some  visible  and  tangible 
object  of  adoration.  Perhaps  none  of  the  secondary 
causes  which  Gibbon  has  assigned  for  the  rapidity 
with  which  Christianity  spread  over  the  world — 
while  Judaism  scarcely  ever  acquired  a  proselyte — 
operated  more  powerfully  than  this  feeling.  God,  the 
uncreated,  the  incomprehensible,  the  invisible,  attract- 
ed few  worshippers.  A  philosopher  might  admire  so 
noble  a  conception ;  but  the  crowd  turned  away  in 
disgust  from  words  which  presented  no  image  to  their 
minds.  It  was  before  Deity,  embodied  in  a  human 
form,  walking  among  men,  partaking  of  their  infirmi- 
ties, leaning  on  their  bosoms,  weeping  over  their 
graves,  slumbering  in  the  manger,  bleeding  on  the 
Cross,  that  the  prejudices  of  the  synagogue,  and  the 
doubts  of  the  academy,  and  the  pride  of  the  portico, 
and  the  fasces  of  the  lictor,  and  the  swords  of  thirty 


129  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

legions,  were  humbled  in  the  dust  !*  Soon  after 
Christianity  had  achieved  its  triumph,  tlie  principles 
which  had  assisted  it  began  to  corrupt.  It  became  a 
new  Paganism.  Patron  saints  assumed  the  offices  of 
household  gods.  St.  George  took  the  place  of  Mars. 
St.  Elmo  consoled  the  mariner  for  the  loss  of  Castor 
and  Pollux.  The  Virgin  Mother  and  Cecilia  succeed- 
ed to  Venus  and  the  Muses.  The  fascination  of  sex 
and  loveliness  was  again  joined  to  that  of  celestial  dig- 
nity ;  and  the  homage  of  chivalry  was  blended  with 
that  of  religion.  Reformers  have  often  made  a  stand 
against  these  feelings  ;  but  never  with  more  than  ap- 
parent and  partial  success.  The  men  who  demolished 
the  images  in  cathedrals  have  not  always  been  able 
to  demolish  those  which  were  enshrined  in  their 
minds.  It  would  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  in  poli- 
tics the  same  rule  holds  good.  Doctrines,  we  are 
afraid,  must  be  emhofJied  before  they  can  excite  strong 
public  feeling.     The  multitude  is  more  easily  interest- 

*  The   members  of  the  compound  series  contained  in  this 
sentence,  should  be  thus  classified  and  inflected : 

It  was  before  Deity,  embodied  in  a  human  form'^- 

walking  among  men"^  partaking  of  their  infirmities"^- 

leaning  on  their  bosoms"'  weeping  over  their  graves"^- 

slumbering  in  the  manger""  bleeding  on  the  cross"^- 

that  the  prejudices  of  the  synagogue""  and  the  doubts  of  the 

academy'^  and  the  pride  of  the  portico"-  and  the  fasces  of  the 

lictor''  and  the  swords  of  thirty  legions'^-  were  humbled  in  the 
dust. 


PRACTICE PART   II.  129 

ed  for  the  most  unmeaning  badge,  or  the  most  insig- 
nificant name,  than  for  the  most  important  principle. 

From  these  considerations,  we  infer,  that  no  poet 
who  should  affect  that  metaphysical  accuracy  for  the 
want  of  which  JMilton  has  been  blamed,  would  escape 
a  disgraceful  failure. — Macauley. 


EVIDENCE  AND  PRECEDENTS  IN  LAW. 

Before  you  can  adjudge  a  fact  ^  you  r)iust  believe 
it  ; — not  suspect  it,  or  imagine  it,  or  fancy  it, — but  be- 
lieve it :  and  it  is  impossible  to  impress  the  human 
mind  with  such  a  reasonable  and  certain  belief,  as  is 
necessary  to  be  impressed,  before  a  Christian  man  can 
adjudge  his  neighbor  to  the  smallest  penalty,  much 
less  to  the  pains  of  death,  without  having  such  evi- 
dence as  a  reasonable  mind  will  accept  of  as  the  in- 
fallible test  of  truth.  And  what  is  that  evidence  ? — 
Neither  more  nor  less  than  that  which  the  Constitu- 
tion has  established  in  the  courts  for  the  general 
administration  of  justice  :  namely,  that  the  evidence 
convince  the  jury,  beyond  all  reasonable  doubt,  that 
the  criminal  intention^  constituting  the  crime,  existed 
in  the  mind  of  the  man  upon  trial,  and  was  the  main- 
spring of  his  conduct.  The  rules  of  evidence,  as  they 
are  settled  by  law,  and  adopted  in  its  general  adminis- 
tration, are  not  to  be  overruled  or  tampered  with. 
They  are  founded  in  the  charities  of  religion — in  the 
philosophy  of  nature — in  the  truths  of  history — and  in 
the  experience  of  common  life  ;  and  whoever  ventures 


130  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

rashly  to  depart  from  them,  let  him  remember  that  it 
will  be  meted  to  him  in  the  same  measure,  and  that 
both  God  and  man  will  judge  him  accordingly. 

These  are  arguments  addressed  to  your  reasons  and 
your  consciences  ;  not  to  be  shaken  in  upright  minds 
by  any  precedent, — for  no  precedents  can  sanctify  in- 
justice :  if  they  could,  every  human  right  would  long 
ago  have  been  extinct  upon  the  earth.  If  the  State 
Trials,  in  bad  times,  are  to  be  searched  for  precedents, 
what  murders  may  you  not  commit — what  law  of  hu- 
manity may  you  not  trample  upon — what  rule  of  jus- 
tice may  you  not  violate — and  what  maxim  of  wise 
policy  may  you  not  abrogate  and  confound  ?  If  pre- 
cedents in  bad  times  are  to  be  implicitly  followed^ 
why  should  we  have  heard  any  evidence  at  all? 
You  might  have  convicted  without  any  evidence  ;  for 
many  have  been  so  convicted — and,  in  this  manner, 
murdered — even  by  acts  of  Parliament,  If  precedents 
in  bad  times  are  to  be  followed,  why  should  the  Lords 
and  Commons  have  investigated  these  charges,  and  the 
Crown  have  put  them  into  this  course  of  judicial 
trial  ? — since,  without  such  a  trial,  and  even  after  an 
acquittal  upon  one,  they  might  have  attainted  all  the 
prisoners  by  act  of  Parliament : — they  did  so  in  the 
case  of  Lord  Straflbrd. 

There  are  precedents,  therefore,  for  all  such  things ; 
but  such  precedents  as  could  not  for  a  moment  sur- 
vive the  times  of  madness  and  distraction  which  gave 
them  birf  h  ;  but  which,  as  soon  as  the  spurs  of  the  oc- 
casions were  blunted,  were  repealed  and  execrated 
even  by  Parliaments  which  (little  as  I  may  think  of 


PRACTICE— PART    II.  131 

the  present)  ought  not  be  compared  with  it :  ParUa- 
ments — sitting  in  the  darkness  of  former  times — in 
the  night  of  freedom — before  the  principles  of  govern- 
ment were  developed,  and  before  the  constitution  be- 
came fixed.  The  last  of  these  precedents,  and  all  the 
proceedings  upon  it,  were  ordered  to  be  taken  off  the 
file  and  burnt,  to  the  intent  that  the  same  might  no 
longer  be  visible  to  after-ages  ;  an  order  dictated,  no 
doubt,  by  a  pious  tenderness  for  national  honor,  and 
meant  as  a  charitable  covering  for  the  crimes  of  our 
fathers.  But  it  was  a  sin  against  posterity — it  was  a 
treason  against  society  ;  for,  instead  of  commanding 
them  to  be  burnt,  they  should  rather  have  directed 
them  to  be  blazoned  in  large  letters  upon  the  walls  of 
our  Courts  of  Justice,  that,  like  the  characters  deci- 
phered by  the  prophet  of  God  to  the  Eastern  tyrant, 
they  might  enlarge  and  blacken  in  your  sights,  to  ter- 
rify you  from  acts  of  injustice. — Erskine. 


SKETCH  OF  LORD  CHATHAM'S  ADMINISTRATION. 

Another  scene  was  opened,  and  other  actors 
appeared  upon  the  stage.  The  state,  in  the  condition 
I  have  described  it,  was  delivered  into  the  hands  of 
Lord  Chatham — a  great  and  celebrated  name  ;  a  name 
that  keeps  the  name  of  this  country  respectable  in 
every  other  on  the  globe.     It  may  truly  be  called, 

Clarum  et  venerabile  nomen 

Gentibus,  et  multum  nostree  qvaod  proderat  urbi. 

Sir,  the  venerable  age  of  this  great  man,  his  merited 


132  ART  OF  ELOCUT10^^ 

rank,  his  superior  eloquence,  his  splendid  quahties,  his 
eminent  services,  the  vast  space  he  fills  in  the  world's 
eye,  and — more  than  all  the  rest — his  fall  from  power 
(which,  like  death,  canonizes  and  sanctifies  a  great 
character,)  will  not  suffer  me  to  censure  any  part  of 
his  conduct.  I  am  afraid  to  flatter  him  :  I  am  sure  I 
am  not  disposed  to  blame  him.  Let  those  who  have 
betrayed  him  by  their  adulation,  insult  him  with  their 
malevolence.  But,  what  I  do  not  presume  to  censure, 
I  may  have  leave  to  lament. 

For  a  wise  man,  he  seemed  to  me,  at  that  time,  to 
be  governed  too  much  by  general  maxims.  I  speak 
with  the  freedom  of  history,  and  I  hope  without  of- 
fence. One  or  two  of  these  maxims,  flowing  from  an 
opinion  not  the  most  indulgent  to  our  unhappy  spe- 
cies, (and  surely  a  little  too  general.)  led  him  into 
measures  that  were  greatly  mischievous  to  himself, — 
and,  for  that  reason  (among  others)  perhaps,  fatal  to 
his  countiy, — measures,  the  effects  of  which,  I  am 
afraid,  are  for  ever  incurable.  He  made  an  adminis- 
tration so  checkered  and  speckled  ;  he  put  together  a 
piece  of  joinery  so  crossly  indented  and  whimsically 
dove-tailed — a  cabinet  so  variously  inlaid — such  a 
piece  of  diversified  mosaic — such  a  tesselated  pave- 
ment without  cement ;  here  a  bit  of  black  stone,  and 
there  a  bit  of  white  ;  patriots  and  courtiers,  king's 
friends  and  repul^licans ;  whigs  and  tories ;  treache- 
rous friends  and  open  enemies  ; — that  it  was,  indeed, 
a  very  curious  show,  but  utterly  unsafe  to  touch,  and 
unsure  to  stand  on.  The  colleagues  whom  he  had 
assorted  at  the  same  boards  stared  at  each  other,  and 


PRACTICE — PART    II.  133 

were  obliged  to  ask,  "  Sir,  your  name  ?" — "  Sir,  you 
have  the  advantage  of  me." — "  Mr.  Such-a-one,  I  beg 
a  thousand  pardons  !"  I  venture  to  say,  it  did  so  hap- 
pen, that  persons  had  a  single  office  divided  between 
them  who  had  never  spoke  to  each  other  in  their 
lives  ;  until  they  found  themselves — they  knew  not 
how — pigging  together,  heads  and  points,  in  the  same 
truckle-bed. — Burke. 


END  OF  PART  II.  OF  SECOND  DIVISION. 


134  ART   OF    ELOCUTION. 


SECOND    DIVISION. 
PART  III. 

1.  Compound  Inflections. 

2.  Pause  of  Force,  or  Expression. 

3.  Cumulative  Emphasis. 

compound  inflections. 

I  have  previously  mentioned  compound  inflections^ 
and  it  is  now  time  to  explain  their  force  and  use. 
They  are  distinguished  from  the  simple  rise  and  fall, 
by  a  greater  range  of  ascent  and  descent,  compre- 
hending tones,  double  tones,  and  half  tones,  (carrying 
the  voice  over  an  interval  of  five  tones,  and  sometimes 
even  of  an  octave.) 

The  compound  inflections  are — 

1.  The  compound  rising — thus  marked  ^— ' 

f 

2.  The  compound  falling — thus  '—• 

The  curved  hne  is  chosen  to  indicate  them,  because  in  mak- 
ing them,  the  voice  does  not  rise  or  fall  directly^  but  in  a  sort 
of  curve,  taking  in  (or  slurring  over)  intermediate  half-tones  in 
its  ascent  or  descent  to  the  extreme  point  of  inflec^tion. 

The  use  of  these  inflections  does  not  set  aside  the 
rules  for  inflection,  so  far  as  to  the  point  whether  the 


COMPOUND   INFLECTIONS. 


135 


inflection  shall  be  risi7ig  or  falling  ;  but  it  increases 
the  j^itch,  and  pouter  of  the  inflection. 

Thus,  if  I  ask  you — 

Did  you  say  yes  ? 

with  the  simple  rising  inflection,  the  question  is  an  indifferent 
one, — in  fact,  a  simple  interrogation  :  it  might  be  thus  marked 
on  a  diagram,  indicating  the  descent  and  ascent  of  the  voice, 
and  the  extreme  point  of  inflection. 


Or,  in  music,  it  might  be  thus  scored- 


Did  you     say 


Here  the  ascent  or  rise  is  of  three  tones, — or,  as  it  is  called, 
in  thirds. 

But,  if  I  am  an.riouslij  desiroiis  to  know  what  your  answer  was 
— and  in  my  question  wish  to  express  that  I  shall  be  very  much 
surprised  if  you  have  said  '•  Yes,"  my  question  would  be  in- 
flected with  the  compound  (or  curved)  inflection,  thus: 


^e~ 


or  in  musical  score ! 


136  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

J=3^1*^^=E^^I»-      or,       =i— ZESt 

Did  you   say  ye-s?  Y-e--s. 

m  which  there  is  on  the  word  yes  both  a  descent  and  an  ascent 
— (that  is,  a  double  or  compound  inflection),  the  ascent  being 
two  tones  higher  than  that  of  the  simple  inflection  in  the  sim- 
ple question ;  and  the  curved  line  denotes  the  slur  of  the  voice 
in  passing  from  the  low  tone  to  the  high  one. 

In  the  same  manner,  the  simple  falling  is  changed,  for  ex- 
pression and  force,  to  the  compound  faUing  inflection.  Thus, 
in  reply  to  the  above  question,  if  you  give  a  simple  answer,  you 
will  say — No — with  the  simple  falling  inflection;  but  if  (in 
answer  to  my  compound  inflection)  you  desire  to  imply  '•  by  no 
means  ;  nothing  could  be  further  from  my  thoughts  ;  and  I  am 
surprised  you  should  ask  such  a  question;''^ — then  you  will  re- 
ply with  the  compound  falling  inflection, 


No—  PI^ 

No 

commencing  on  a  high  pitch  of  voice,  and  making  a  sweep  or 
curve  of  fZe.9cent  equal  and  corresponding  to  the  curve  of  as- 
cent in  the  compound  rising  inflection  of  my  question. 

That  ascent  and  descent  are  usually  in  ffths,  as  above  ;  but 
when  the  speaker  is  under  strong  passion,  his  voice  will  ascend  a 
full  octave.  Such,  for  example,  should  be  the  range  of  the  inflec- 
tion on  the  questions  by  Hamlet  to  Laertes  at  Ophelia's  grave : 

"  Dost  thou  come  here  to  whine  ? 

To  outface  me  with  leaping  in  her  grave  ?" 

Hamlet,  act  iv,,  ec.  1. 


COMPOUND   INFLECTIONS.  137 


Dost    thou  come    here  to     whine. 

And,  unless  the  voice  reach  the  octave  in  these  Unes,  the  pas- 
sionate contempt  intended  to  be  conveyed  will  be  lost ;  and  the 
scornful  question  will  be  changed  into  a  common  interrogation, 
expecting  a  serious  answer. 

Such  is  the  distinction  between  the  compound  and  simple 
inflections. 

Now  let  us  see  when  and  for  what  they  are  used. 


The  compound  inflections  are  used  in  strong  and  vehement 
^interrogation. — and  for  ironder,  contempt,  scornful  indignation. 
ridicule,  and  (especially)  in  Irony. 

EXAMPLES. 

When,  m  '•  The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  (Act  iv.,  sc.  1.)  Portia, 
understanding  that  the  merchant's  bond  to  Shylock  is  forfeited, 
says — 

Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful ; 
and  Shylock  asks — 

On  what  compulsion  must  I  ?  tell  me  that ; 
her  reply — 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd — 

must  be  marked  with  the  compotmd  rising  inflection ;  which 
will  give  the  expression  of  wonder  that  such  a  question  could 
be  asked,  and  contempt  for  the  sordid  feeling  that  dictated  it. 

So,  in  the  following  examples,  for    ridicule  and 
irony : 


138  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

You  must  take  me  for  a  fool,  to  think  I  could  do  that. 

For  mine  own  part, 

I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

You  meant  no  harm ;  oh  no  !  your  thoughts  are  innocent ; 
you  have  nothing  to  hide ;  your  breast  is  pure,  stainless,  all 
truth. 

And  in  that  reply  of  Brutus  to  Cassius,  (^Julius  CcBsar. 
Act  iv.,)  the  sco7m  implied  in  his  indignant  interrogations, 
must  be  marked  with  the  compound  inflection,  reaching  a  full 
octave. 

Cos. — Ye  gods  !  ye  gods  !  must  I  endure  all  this  7 

Br. — All  this  ?   Aye,  more ! — Fret  till  your  proud  heart  break : 
Go  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are. 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble.    Must  I  budge  1 
Must  I  observe  you  ?     Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humour  ? — 

It  is.  in  fact,  this  pitch,  (the  octave.)  that  lends  the  scornful 
expression  to  the  words ;  and  it  is  the  degree  of  expression  re- 
quired that  is  to  regulate  the  pitch. 


IN    ANTITHESIS. 

These  inflections  are  also  used  to  give  increased  force  to  an- 
tithesis ;  and  follow  each  other,  sometimes,  in  double  antithesis 
60  closely,  that  the  voice  is  k*>pt  \n  a  continual  wave  of  ascent 
and  descent,  by  alternate  rising  and  falling  compound  inflec- 
tions. 


PAUSE  OF  FORCE.  13S 

EXAMPLES. 

If  you  said  so,  then  I  said  so. 

Let  the  gall'd  jade  u'ince,  our  withers  are  unwrung ! 

In  all  the  above  examples,  there  is  a  certain  degree  o^  jeer- 
ing or  ironij  conveyed ;  and  it  is  in  the  ironical  expression  that 
these  compound  inflections,  (with  high  pitch.)  have  the  great- 
est power.  An  exceedingly  good  practice  on  these  inflections 
is  Marc  Antony's  speech  to  the  populace,  over  the  dead  body 
of  Csesar ;  in  which  it  will'  be  perceived  what  eSect  may  be 
added  to  the  oft-repeated  epithet,  '■'honorable  men,"  (which the 
orator  ironically  applies  to  Brutus  and  the  rest.)  by  the  adop- 
tion of  these  compound  inflections.  But,  in  the  practice  of  this 
speech,  remark  that  the  irony  is  not  immediately  displayed  by 
Marc  Antony.  He  dares  not,  in  the  first  instance,  cast  a  doubt, 
by  ironical  expression,  upon  the  motives  of  Brutus  and  the  rest: 
and  it  is  only  when  he  feels  that  he  is  making  a  favorable  im- 
pression upon  the  multitude,  and  "  steaUng  away  their  hearts," 
that  he  ventures  to  unveil  his  thoughts,  and  to  speak  with  irony, 
and  finally  in  utter  contempt,  of  the  -honorable  men  who  have 
stabb'd  Csesar."  Bearing  tliis  hint  in  mind,  the  student  may, 
at  this  point  of  his  progress,  exercise  himself  with  advantage 
on  that  celebrated  piece  of  oratory.* 


2,  PAUSE  OF  FORCE,  OR  EXPRESSION. 

Great  expression  and  force  may  be  imparted  to  an 
idea  by  the  introduction  of  the  short  pause,  with  a 
suspension  of  the  voice  immediately  before  the  word 
conveying  the  idea,  or  embodying  emotion. 

This  pause,  so  introduced  and  suspending  .the 
sense,  is  called  the  Pause  of  Force. 

*  See  Appendix. 


140  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Like  the  Emphasis  of  Force  (with  which  it  is  fre- 
quently allied),  it  is  arbitrary  in  its  use,  and  depends 
on  the  will  and  judgment  of  the  speaker  for  its  em- 
ployment. 


The  pause  of  force  or  expression  is  made  by  arresting  and 
suspending  the  voice,  immediately  before  the  word  or  member 
on  which  the  speaker  wishes  to  concentrate  his  power. 

EXAMPLE. 

In  Marc  Antony's  apostrophe  to  Caesar's  body, — when  Bru- 
tus and  the  rest,  after  the  murder  of  Csesar,  having  shaken 
hands  with  Antony  in  pledge  of  amity,  have  left  liim  alone  in 
the  Senate  house, — he  exclaims, 

Oh !  pardon  me, — thou  bleedmg  piece  of  earth. — 
That  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers  ! 

The  force  and  expression  of  this  passage,  m  de- 
livery, is  wonderfully  increased,  if,  besides  the  usual 
pauses,  we  introduce  the  pause  of  feeling  before — 
with  the  emphasis  of  force  on — the  word  "  butchers :" 
the  passage  will  then  be  marked  thus — 

Oh  !  pardon  me^'  thou  piece  of  bleeding  earth"'-* 
That  I  am  meek  and  gentle*"  with  these''  butchers  1 

The  effect  of  this  is  at  once  felt :  it  is  as  if  the 
speaker  paused  to  find  a  word  strong  enough  for  his 
feeling  of  abhorrence  ;  and,  at  length,  hitting  on  the 


*  The  reading  of  the  text  of  this  line  is  received  either 
"bleeding  piece  of  earth,"  or  "piece  of  bleeding  earth :"  the 
former  appears  to  me  the  better  reading. 


PAUSE    OF    FORCE.  141 

word  butcher,  he  pours  it  out  with  the  force  and  ex- 
pression of  execration. 

This  pause  arrests  the  attention  of  the  hearer  in  an 
extraordinary  manner  ;  and  therefore  it  may  be  used 
for  that  effect,  before  the  word  of  particular  force  and 
importance  in  the  most  solemn  and  least-excited 
passages  ;  as  in  Saint  Paul, 

And  now  abideth  faith,  hope,  charity;  these  three:  but 
the  greatest  of  these  is'^  charity. 

And  in  Portia's  speech  on  mercy, 

And  earthly  power  doth  then  shew  iikest''  God's, 
When  mercy  seasons  justice. 

In  excited  passages  of  highly-wrought  feeling,  it 
also  gives  the  orator  an  opportunity  of  gathering  full 
power  of  voice  to  concentrate  it  on  the  one  word  or 
phrase — as,  in  the  well-known  burst  of  Othello's  pas- 
sion : 

If  thou  dost  slander  her,  and""  torture  me. 
Never  pray  more ! 

Great  power  and  expression  may  be  added  to  the 
phrase  "  torture  we,"  by  the  introduction  of  this 
pause,  with  the  emphasis  of  force,  on  the  words  "  tor- 
ture TneP 

The  strength  of  the  passage  is  further  increased  by 
the  addition  of  the  same  pause  before  the  words 
"  never  jiray  more  ;"  in  which  case,  the  pause  will 
be  doubled  in  time  ;  (as  there  is  already  a  pause  of 
sense  required  after  torture  me.) 


142  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

The  passage  will  then  stand  marked — with  pause,  inflection 
(of  antithesis.)  and  emphasis  of  ybrce. 

If  thou  dost  slander  her,  and"^  torture  me*" 
Never  pray  more ! 

We  shall  presently  see  that  the  power  of  this  pas- 
sage may  be  still  further  augmented — under  the 
force  of 

CUMULATIVE    EMPHASIS. 

The  emphasis  of  sense  goes  to  ineaning  only  ;  the 
emphasis  of  force  is  expressive  of  intensity  and 
energy.  That  expression  is  augmented  by  doubling 
the  emphasis, — and  is  brought  to  its  climax  of  power, 
by  applying  it  to  several  words  in  succession  ;  which 
is  called  accumulated  or  Cumidative  Emphasis. 

This  emphasis,  when  judiciously  used,  adds  great 
power  to  passages  of  strength  :  but  it  must  not  be  fre- 
quently employed,  or  it  will  lose  its  effect  by  the  repeti- 
tion, and  give  a  disagreeable  jerking  to  the  delivery. 
It  is  introduced  properly,  to  add  increased  force  to 
climax, — either  of  powerful  argu?nent,  or  of  highly- 
wrought  passion.  In  both  these  cases  it  crowns  the 
excitement  and  energy  of  the  speaker  ;  it  is  the  '•  top- 
most round"  of  the  ladder,  beyond  which  he  cannot 
step.  It  should  therefore  be  reserved  for  great  occa- 
sions.    Thus, — 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  In  an  important  reply,  in  which  the  orator  feels  that  he 
has  triumphantly  refuted  the  arguments  of  his  opponent,  he 
may,  with  efTict,  close  the  climax  of  his  triumph  witli  the  cu- 
mulative emphasis  of  force : 


CTTMULATIVE    EMPHASIS.  143 

1  have  thus  shown,  from  the  gentleman's  own  arguments, 
that  the  doctrine  advanced  by  him  is  not  at  present  received : 
— that  it  never  was""  received:  that  it  never  can''  by  any 
possibihty*'  be"^  received :  and  that,*^  iT^  admitted,'^  it  must  be" 
by  the  total  subversion  of  liberty  itself! 

2.  Again,  on  the  climax  of  intense  passion,  as  in  the  former 
example  of  Othello's  speech,  read  with  cumulative  emphasis, 
the  articulation  of  the  passage  becomes  almost  syllabic,  and  it 
acquires  tremendous  power. 

If  thou  dost  slander  her"  and''  torture  me"- 

Never  pray  more :  abandon  all  remorse  • 

On  hon'or's  head  horrors  accumulate ; 

Do  deeds"  to  make  heav'n  weep,  all  earth^  amazed — 

For  nothing  canst  thou  to  damnation  add"" 

Greater  than  this ! 

Such  is  the  power  of  Cumulative  Emphasis. 

Expression  of  feeUng  and  passion  is  achieved, 
not  by  inflection  or  emphasis,  but  by  pitch  of  voice  ; 
which  will  be  treated  of  in  the  next  division. 


END  OP  PART  III.  OF  SECOND  DIVISION. 


144  ART   OF   ELOCUTION^ 


THIRD    DIVISION. 


The  principles  developed  in  the  preceding  Division 
have  taught  us  to  read  and  speak  with  meaning,  force^ 
and  ease.  But  Elocution  has  a  higher  aim.  She  fol- 
lows the  human  voice  in  its  natural  and  unrestrained 
expression  of  intense  feeling, — she  accompanies  it 
"  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest,  and  whirlwind  of  its 
passion  ;"  she  knows  it  in  its  joy  and  in  its  sorrow  ; 
she  catches,  and  treasures  up  its  intonations  of  love 
and  hate,  persuasion  and  command,  scorn,  pity,  ten- 
derness and  rage  ;  and  by  the  pow^er  of  her  "  so  potent 
art,"  she  holds  them  like  familiar  spirits,  to  be  let 
loose  at  will. 

Under  her  teaching,  he  who  will,  may  learn  their 
mastery  ;  subdue  them  to  his  power ;  and  call  them 
to  his  aid,  when  he  would  cast  a  spell  over  the  minds 
and  hearts  of  his  fellow-men. 

This  is  the  highest  triumph  of  Elocution ; — the  truth- 
ful utterance  of  intense  and  passionate  feeling. 

This  is  to  be  attained  by  the  power  of 

Intonation,  Expression,  Energy  j 
the  Crowning  Graces  of  Elocution. 


mXONATION.  145 

INTONATION. 

Intonation  is  the  art  of  impartnig  true  and  perfect 
tone  to  the  organ  of  the  voice  :  its  practice  forms  the 
Education  of  the  Voice,  and  gives  it  fuhiess  and 
vohime. 

The  human  voice  (as  I  have  before  observed)  must 
be  regarded  as  a  musical  instrument — an  Organ. 
To  produce  its  tones,  its  bellows — the  lungs — must 
be  kept  duly  inflated^  or  supplied  with  breath ;  the 
pipe — the  throat — must  have  full  play, — the  orifice 
of  the  mouth  must  be  well  opened,  and  the  sound 
must  be  poured  through  it  in  a  copious,  swelling 
stream  ;  interrupted,  momentarily,  by  pause  or  rests, 
— on  which  it  gathers  fresh  impetus  for  its  onward 
course. 

Many  a  voice  is  called  weak,  not  because  it  is 
really  deficient  in  natural  power,  but  because  its  pos- 
sessor is  ignorant  of,  or  unpractised  in,  the  mechanical 
means  of  eliciting,  improving,  and  displaying  its 
strength.  For  the  means  are  mechanical,  and  consist 
of  the  following 

PROCESS    OF    INTONATION. 

1.  Inflation  of  the  Lungs,  (to  begin.)  and  reg^darly  sup- 
plying  what  they  expend  in  respiration — by  an  imperceptible 
inspirotion,  or  catch  of  the  breath,  at  each  pause: — (and  here 
the  rhetorical  pause  is  of  great  service.) 

2.  Opening  the  Mouth  u-ell — not  speaking  through  the 
teeth — or,  as  it  is  called,  '•  eating  your  words," — (which  nine 
speakers  out  often  do.) 

3.  Pouring  out  the  Voice  regtdarly,  with  an  even  and 
continuous ^oac  and  swell;  not  in  irregular  jerks  and  starts. 

G 


148  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

This  process  is  perfectly  simple,  and  merely  requires 
exercise  to  make  it  easy.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  same  art 
as  that  which  every  one  has  observed  in  public 
singers ;  who,  however,  display  the  mechanical 
means  too  manifestly,  (and  in  some  instances  painful- 
ly,) by  distortion  of  visage  and  heaving  of  chest. 
This  exhibition  of  the  physical  effort  must  be  avoided 
by  the  Elocutionist :  Ars  est  celare  artem.  The 
machinery  must  be  worked,  but  the  springs  and 
wheels  must  be  kept  out  of  sight. 

SWELL  OF  VOICE. 

The  swell  of  voice  is  called  in  music  crescendo^  or  increas- 
ing^ and  is  denoted  by  this  mark.  "=^ ;  and  the  diminishing  of 
the  sound  is  called  diminuendo,  thus  denoted,  ^^^='. 

The  whole  swell  and  decrease  is  therefore  thus  denoted  ■^=^^^^^^=". 

I  shall  adopt  the  same  respective  marks ; — to  denote  the  in- 
creasing of  the  volume  of  voice — and  its  diminution. 

INSPIRATION. 

Observe  that  the  pauses  afford  the  opportunity  for  regular 
inspiration,  to  supply  expended  breath  ;  a  resort  absolutely  ne- 
cessary in  order  to  powerful  enunciation  and  perfect  intonation; 
for  there  can  be  no  command  of  voice  without  a  perfect  com- 
mand of  breath. 

I  have  previously  laid  it  down,  that  in  the  delivery 
of  serial  sentences — where  the  sense  goes  on  increas- 
ing by  ajnplijication — the  volume  of  voice  or  sound 
should  also  increase  (crescendo)  up  to  the  climax ; 
but  remember,  that  shouting  is  not  Intonation.* 


*  There  is  a  marked  distinction  between  noise  and  musical 
sound.    Noise  is  a  confused  mi.xture  of  sounds  produced  by  the 


EXERCISE    ON    INTONATION.  147 

Observing  this,  and  also  the  rules  of  i^ause  and 
inflection  on  Series,  let  the  reader  practise  himself  on 
the  following 

EXERCISE    ON    INTONATION. 

1.  In  times,  when  the  whole  habitable  earth"'  is  in  a  state  of 
change  and  fluctuation"^- 

when  deserts  are  starting  up"^  into  civihzed  empires 
around  you,"'- 

and  when  men,"  no  longer  the  slaves  of  particular 
countries,"'  much  less  of  particular  governments,"^- 

enhst  themselves,"'  hke  the  citizens  of  an  enlightened 
world,"'  into  whatever  communities"'  where  their  civil  Uberties 
may  be  best  protected,"'- 

it  never  can  be"'  for  the  advantage  of  this  country"^  to 
prove"""- 

that  the  strict  letter  of  the  laws"'  is  no  security  to  its 
inhabitants. 

2.  The  following  exordium  of  Brutus'  speech  to  the 
populace,  also  affords  an  excellent  exercise  for  the 

concussion  of  non-elastic  bodies ;  whereas  musical  sound  is  a 
pure  harmonious  elTect  emanating  from  a  simple  elastic  body, 
as  the  tone  of  a  bell.  It  is  a  curious  feet,  that  musical  sounds 
fly  farther,  and  are  heard  at  a  greater  distance,  than  those 
which  are  more  loud  and  noisy.  If  we  go  on  the  outside  of  a 
town  during  a  fair,  at  the  distance  of  a  mile,  we  hear  the  musi- 
cal instruments ;  but  the  din  of  tlie  multitude,  which  is  over- 
powering in  the  place,  can  scarcely  be  heard,  the  noise  dying 
upon  the  spot. — Gardiner's  Music  of  Nature. 


148  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Student ;  who  will  remember  that  Brutus  is  supposed 
to  be  addressing  a  large  and  turbulent  popular  assem- 
bly in  the  open  air ;  and  therefore  requires  a  powerful 
intonation,  in  order  to  obtain  even  a  hearing. 

Romans'^  countrymen'^  and  lovers !  Hear  me''  for  my  cause"'- 
and  be  silenf  that  you  may  hear.  Believe  me"'  for  mine 
honor''-  and  have  respect  to  mine  honor'^  that  you  may  believe. 
Censure  me  in  your  wisdom""-  and  awake  your  senses"'  that  you 
may  the  better  judge.  I  If  there  be  any^  in  this  assembly"" 
any  dear  friend  of  Caesar''-  to  him  I  say*"  that  Brutus'  love  for 
Csesar"*  was  no  less  than  his.  If  then""  that  friend  demand ' 
why  Brutus  rose  against  Caesar"'-  this  is  my  answer""-  Not" 
that  I  loved  Caesar"'  less"*-  buf  that  I  loved  Rome"'  more  ! 

If  the  pupil  will  exercise  himself  in  this  last  passage 
aloud,  commencing  on  a  low  tone — inspiring  on  the 
pauses  (so  as  to  keep  his  lungs  filled  with  breath) — 
and  increasing  the  volume  of  his  voice  on  the  -=: 
crescendo, — he  will  make  considerable  advance  in  the 
practice  of  Intonation.  As  he  proceeds,  he  will  find 
that  his  voice  will  ascend  and  take  a  higher  pitch. 
The  use  of  the  long  pause  (as  at  the  word  '■'-judge,^') 
will  serve  to  resume  the  tone  on  which  he  commenced. 
(See  Pause — Long  Pause.  Second  Div.   Part  I.) 


INTONATION  OF  POETRY. 

We  have  hitherto  confined  our  exercises  to  Prose 
readings  ; — on  the  principle  that  we  must  learn  to 


POETICAL  eloci;tio.v.  149 

walk  before  we  run.  But  Intonation  is  so  connected 
with,  and  necessary  to  the  reading  and  dehvery  of 
verse  and  poetic  language,  that  it  is  now  a  proper 
time  and  place  to  introduce  some  observations  on 

POETICAL    ELOCUTION. 

It  is  first  to  be  observed,  that  the  general  style  of 
reading  or  reciting  verse  and  poetic  language,  should 
be  higher  and  more  exalted  than  that  of  prose :  for 
poetry  is  a  more  exalted  style  of  composition  than 
prose  ;  and  the  elocution  must  keep  pace  with  the 
subject  or  matter.  The  voice  must  flow  more  softly ; 
must  undulate  gently,  and  not  jump  or  jerk  on  the  in- 
flections ;  so  that  the  verse  may  run  smoothly  and 
without  jar  upon  the  ear.  Intonation  nmst  be  particu- 
larly attended  to  in  poetical  delivery  :  so  that  the  mu- 
sic of  the  voice  being  fully  brought  out,  it  may  aid 
and  give  echo  to  the  music  of  the  language. 

This  style  I  call  the  imaginative  style  of  Elocution  : 
because  it  is  the  style  to  be  adopted  in  the  delivery  of 
all  imaginative  composition,  whether  in  prose  or 
verse.  For,  I  need  not  remark  that  there  is  jjoetical 
p?-ose,  which  must  be  delivered  in  the  imaginative  or 
poetical  style  ;  and  we  all  painfully  know  that  there 
is  poetry — or  rather  verse — so  irredeemably  pro5a?c, 
that  no  reading  or  Elocution  could  possibly  invest  it 
with  the  attributes  of  poetry  :  the  best  way  is  not  to 
read  it  at  all. 

As  an  example  of  poetic  prose,  take  the  following 

EXTRACT    FROM    OSSIAN. 

As  Autumn's  dark  storms  pour  from  two  echoing  hills,  so  to- 


150  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

ward  each  other  approached  the  heroes.  As  two  dark  streams 
from  high  rocks  meet  and  mix,  and  roar  on  the  plain ;  loud, 
rough  and  dark,  in  battle  met  Lochlin  and  Innisfail ;  chief  mixed 
his  strokes  with  chief,  and  man  with  man.  Steel  clanging 
sounded  on  steel.  Helmets  are  cleft  on  high ;  blood  bursts  and 
smokes  around.  As  the  troubled  noise  of  the  ocean  when  roll 
the  waVfes  on  high ;  as  the  last  peal  of  the  thunder  of  heaven ; 
such  is  the  noise  of  battle.  The  groan  of  the  people  spreads 
over  the  hills.  It  was  like  the  thunder  of  night  when  the  cloud 
bursts  on  Cona,  and  a  thousand  ghosts  shriek  at  once  on  the 
hollow  wind. 

Such  language  as  this  must  not  be  dehvered  as 
common  prose  ;  but  the  speaker's  Elocution  must  be 
swelling,  exalted,  dignified  ;  in  fine,  elevated  to  the 
level  of  the  composition.  In  the  same  manner,  in  the 
delivery  of  any  figurative  passage  in  an  ordinary  dis- 
course or  oration, — where  the  orator,  borne  aloft  on 
the  wings  of  his  imagination,  quits  the  common  track 
of  language  and  soars  in  the  regions  of  fancy, — the 
Elocution  must  also  rise,  and  sustain  a  flight  equal  in 
loftiness  and  ambition  to  the  elevation  of  the  orator's 
diction  and  style.     As  in  the  following 

EXTRACT    FROM    BURKE.* 

In  the  course  of  all  this  proceeding,  your  lordships  will  not 
fail  to  observe,  he  is  never  corrupt  but  he  is  cruel :  he  never 
dines  with  comfort,  but  where  he  is  sure  to  create  a  famine.  He 
never  robs  from  the  loose  superfluity  of  standing  greatness  ; 
he  devours  the  fdlen,  the  indigent,  llie  necessitous.  His  extor- 
tion is  not  like  the  generous  rapacity  of  the  princely  casrie,  who 
snatches  away  the  living,  struggling  prey  ;  he  is  a  vulture  who 
feeds  upon  the  prostrate,  the  dying  and  the  dead.     As  his  cru- 


*  Impeachment  of  Warren  Hastings. 


OROTUND.  151 

elty  is  more  shocking  than  his  corruption,  so  his  hypocrisy  has 
something  more  frightiul  than  liis  cruelty.  For  whilst  his  bloody 
and  rapacious  hand  signs  proscriptions,  and.  sweeps  away  the 
food  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan,  his  eyes  overflow  with  tears ; 
and  he  converts  the  healing  balm,  that  bleeds  from  wounded 
humanity,  into  a  rancorous  and  deadly  poison  to  the  race  of 
man. 

Every  cue  feels  how  much  this  passage  rises 
above  the  ordinary  diction  of  prose, — that  it  is,  in  fact, 
a  flight  of  oratory.  The  Elocution  must  keep  pace 
with  it  ;  that  is,  the  imaginative  style  must  be 
adopted. 

One  of  the  main  characteristics  of  this  lofty  style  is 
what  is  called  the  orotund  voice ;  that  is,  that  full 
and  swelling  tone  which  is  produced  by  the  same  or- 
ganic form  and  action  of  the  mouth  as  are  necessary 

7  7  7 

perfectly  to  enunciate  the  tonic  o,  as  in  o-ld,  c-o-l-d, 
<fcc.  To  utter  this  tonic  perfectly,  the  mouth  is  kept 
in  a  rotund  form,  and  the  tone  produced  is  called  oro- 
tund {ore  rotundo.)  By  carefully  reading  the  follow- 
ing lines,  with  particular  attention  to  the  enunciation 
of  the  tonic  o,  and  swelling  the  voice  upon  it,  the  pu- 
pil will  attain  a  clear  perception  of  the  orotund  voice. 

Oh  holy  Hope'^  that  flows  thro'  all  my  soul ! 

From  pole  to  pole"^  the  deep-toiied  thunders  roll. 

Low  hollow  moans"  proclaim  his  deep-souled  woe. 

Now,  the  form  of  the  moutli  in  tUtering  these  lines, 
must,  from  the  prevalence  of  the  tonic  o,  be  rotund  ; 
and  the  quality  of  voice  must  be  orotund.     The  art  is 


152  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

to  be  able  to  preserve  that  quality  of  voice  in  other 
passages  iii  which  that  tonic  sound  of  o  does  not  pre- 
vail ;  but  which,  nevertheless,  require,  and  are  capa- 
ble of  receiving,  on  the  tonics  which  they  do  contain, 
the  full  swelling  tone  of  the  oro-tund,  as  in  the 
following 

PRACTICE   OX   OROTUND. 

And  all  the  clouHs"  that  lower'd  vipon  our  house,'^- 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean"'  buried. 


Shaks. 


All  are  but  parts'^  of  one  harmonious  whole,' 
Whose  body  nature  is"  and  God  the  soul ! 

With  woful  measures,'^  wan  Despair,"^ 
Low"  sullen  sounds,'^  his  grief  beguiled." 


Pope. 


Collins. 

The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 

Grow  dim  with  age.  and  Nature  sink  in  years ; 

But  thou""  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth''- 

Unhurf  amidst  the  war  of  elements" 

The  wreck  of  matter^  and  the  crush  of  worlds. 

Addison. 

To  Scriptural  reading,  and  prayer,  the  orotund  is 
most  appropriate ;  for  its  full  swelling  tone  lends 
depth  and  solemnity  to  the  delivery,  and  is  strongly 
expressive  of  reverential  feeling.  The  acquisition  and 
command  of  the  orotund,  therefore,  is  essential  to  the 


READING    OF    VERSE.  l^Z 

clergyman,  whose  voice  is  required  to  fill  a  large 
building,  not  only  so  as  to  be  audible,  but  with  a 
deep  and  solemn  effect  that  shall  secure  the  attention, 
respect  and  sympathy  of  his  auditors.  Tlie  figurative 
and  sublime  language  of  the  Old  Testament  must  not 
be  uttered,  (as  it  too  frequently  is.)  in  the  familiar  and 
undignified  tone  in  which  we  would  deliver  an  ordi- 
nary lecture,  or  make  a  statement  of  finance ;  and 
even  the  beautiful  simplicity  of  the  New  Testament 
must  not  be  vulgarised  and  degraded  to  the  familiar 
tone  of  common-place  conversation  or  narration.  The 
dignity  of  his  subject,  his  office,  its  high  aim,  tire 
place,  the  occasion,  all  demand  from  the  clergyman, 
dignity  of  style  and  manner :  and  the  orotund  voice, 
with  its  full  swelling  stream  of  sound,  is  the  one  adapt- 
ed to  that  end.  It  should,  therefore,  be  a  great  and 
constant  object  of  the  clergyman  to  educate  his  voice 
and  utterance  upon  this  point.  More  than  these  few 
hints  on  Scriptural  reading  I  cannot  give  here  ;  it  is  a 
style  of  itself,  which  requires  considerable  practice, 
and  cultivation  of  voice,  so  as  to  avoid,  on  the  one 
hand,  meanness,  and  famiharity  in  aiming  at  sim- 
plicity :  and  on  the  other,  to  escape  bombast  and  tur- 
gidity,  while  aspiring  to  dignity  and  power. 

READING  OF  VERSE. 

The  previous  observations  apply  to  the  general  style 
of  poetical  Elocution,  whether  in  prose  or  verse.  In 
the  reading  of  verse,  we  must,  moreover,  be  careful  to 
preserve  Rhvthm  and  Melody. 

G* 


154  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

1.  Rhythm  is  musical  order  of  arrangement :  it  is 
as  pleasing,  and  indeed  necessary  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  ear,  as  symmetry  and  regularity  of  form  are  to  the 
eye.  In  music,  rhythm  governs  the  leaping  or  gush- 
ing of  the  sound  ;  in  dance,  it  regulates  the  beating  of 
the  feet ;  in  language,  it  directs  or  arranges  the  pulsa- 
tions or  strokes  of  the  voice  upon  words  or  syllables  ; 
or,  as  it  is  called,  in  music,  the  accentuation.  I  have 
before  observed,  that  there  is  a  rhythm  even  in  prose  ; 
but  it  is  uncertain,  irregular  and  fickle.  Verse  is  the 
music  of  language  ;  rhythm  is  its  essential  quality  ; 
the  regularity  and  perfection  of  which  distinguish  it 
from  prose.  Verse  is  addressed  to  the  ear  ;  its  music 
is  not  received  through  the  eye,  (although  a  regular 
marginal  blank  may  seem  to  mark  the  versification 
on  paper,)  and  therefore,  it  is  as  requisite,  in  reading 
verse,  to  mark  the  rhythmical  accentuation  of  the  line, 
as  that,  in  playing  or  singing,  we  should  observe  due 
time.  That  is,  we  must  regulate  the  pulsation  and 
movement  of  sound  by  the  voice,  to  the  regulated 
metrical  accentuation  (or  rhythm)  of  the  verse. 

English  verse  consists  of  the  arrangement,  at  regu- 
lar intervals,  of  accented  and  wwaccented, — or,  more 
properly  speaking,  of  heavy  and  light  syllables. 

This  regular  arrangement,  or  order,  constitutes  the 
rhythm  of  the  verse, — whether  that  verse  be  blank 
or  in  rhyme  ; — rhyme  is  the  coincidence  of  sound  in 
the  closing  cadence  of  one  line  with  that  of  another  ; 
it  has  no  reference  to  or  influence  upon  the  rhythm, 
from  which  it  is  perfectly  distinct,  nor  is  it  an  essen- 
tial constituent  of  English  poetry. 


MEASURE    OF    VERSE.  155 

Latin  and  Greek  Verse  is  measured,  by  prosodians, 
by  certain  adjustments  of  syllables,  long  and  short, 
called  feet :  of  these  feet  there  is  a  great  variety,  of 
which  the  principal  are  the 

Spondee — two  long  syllables,  as  undone^ 
Trochee — one  long  and  one  short  syllable,  as  vfiercy, 
Iambus — one  short  and  one  long,  as  elate, 
Dactyl — one  long  and  two  short,  as  merciful, 
AnapcEst — two  short  and  one  long,  as  lemonade. 

But,  of  that  style  of  scanning  our  English  verse  is 
quite  independent,  and  indeed  incapable.  The  syllables 
in  our  language  cannot  be  classed  as  long  or  short,  for 
the  same  syllables  vary  in  quantity,  as  they  occur  in 
different  verses,  according  to  the  amount  of  feeling  or 
force  that  may  be  given  to  them,  and  other  circum- 
stances governing  their  quantity.  English  verse  is 
regulated  by  the  arrangement  of  heavy  and  light  syl- 
lables, and  depends  for  its  musical  effect  upon  time 
and  accentuation ;  or,  pulsation  and  remission  of 
sound,  on  the  heavy  and  light  syllables,  respectively. 

English  verse  may  be  divided  into  common  time 
and  triple  time  :  the  first  being  the  pace  of  a  maia's 
walk  ;  the  second  of  a  horse's  canter.  The  accentua- 
tion is,  as  in  music,  always  on  the  bar ;  that  is,  the 
accented  note,  or  heavy  syllable,  must  commence  the 
bar,  or  its  place  must  be  supplied  by  a  rest,  which 
counts  for  it ;  for  rests  are  as  essential  to  rhythm  as 
the  notes  themselves. 


15G  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Thus  we  can  divide  or  bar  for  accentuation,  all  English  verse. 
Take  the  following  three  examples,  as  timed,  barred,  and  ac- 
cented :  the  two  first  are  in  common  time,  the  third  is  in  triple 
time: 

2  /  /  / 

-J    I  '"  '^  A  I  present  |  deity  |  ^  they  |  shout  a  |  round  '"  | 

/  /  I.I  I 

I  '"'^A  I  present  |  deity  |  '^"'the  |  vaulted!  roofs  re  |  bound  ■•  | 

2  /  /  / 

-z  Softly  I  sweet  in  |  Lydian  |  measures  | 

Soon  he  |  soothed  his  |  soul  to  |  pleasures. 

3  /  /  /  / 

^  I  ''  The  I  princes  ap  |  plaud  with  a  |  furious  |  joy  "^  \ 

III 
I  •"  And  the  |  king  seized  a  j  flambeau  with  |  zeal  to  des-  | 

troy.'"  I 

The  pulsation  of  voice,  and  the  classification  or  division  of 
the  syllables  as  accented  and  arranged  in  the  preceding  coup- 
lets, distinctly  mark  their  different  rhythm. — To  illustrate  this 
further,  read  the  second  line  of  the  third  couplet,  as  if  it  were 
thus  divided  and  accented  : 

I  I  I  I  I  I 

And  the  king  |  seized  a  flambeau  |  with  zeal  |  to  destroy. 

Thus  read,  the  verse  becomes  prose  ;  for.  hyfahe  accentua- 
tion, its  musical  movement  is  lost,  and  the  rhythm  is  destroyed. 
This  must  be  clear  to  every  ear. 

At  the  same  time  bo  careful  not  to  fall  into  that 
sing-song"  style  of  reading  verse,  which  is  produced 
by  the  accentuation  of  little  and  insignificant  words. 

This  sing-song  style,  so  common  among  readers, 


MEASURE  OF  VERSE.  157 

is  the  result  of  the  absurd  attempt  of  prosodians  to 
measure  Eughsh  versification  by  feet,  instead  of  by 
time  and  accentuation.  The  music  of  a  verse  is  not 
to  be  ascertained  by  counting  on  the  fingers,  or  scan- 
ning.1  (as  it  is  called) ;  but  by  the  ear.* 

English  verse  consists  of  a  certain  number  of  bars, 
in  the  same  time ;  of  which  the  rests  or  pauses  are 
constituent  parts :  and  it  is  therefore  as  much  on  the 
due  observance  of  these  rests,  as  on  the  accentuation 
of  the  notes  or  syllables,  that  the  rhythm  depends. 

Take  the  following  examples  of  verses  scanned  first  accord- 
ing to  the  feet  of  the  pj-osodians,  counted  on  their  fingers,  and 
then  according  to  the  rational  prosody  which  really  governs 
the  rhythm  of  English  verse, — that  is,  time  and  accentuation. 
According  to  the  former  plan,  it  will  be  observed,  that  the  sense 
is  utterly  sacrificed  to  the  scanning,  for  want  of  rest  or  pause, 
however  necessary  it  may  be -to  the  meaning  or  feeling  of  the 
verse ;  Avhile,  by  the  latter  plan,  the  rhythm,  sense  and  feeling 
go  hand  in  hand,  and  are  aided  by  rests. 

1.  Prosodial  scanning  by  feet — 

IAMBICS. 

On  the  I  bare  earth  |  exposed  |  he  lies,  | 
With  not  I  a  friend  |  to  close  |  his  eyes.  ] 

A  mode  of  scanning,  if  adhered  to  in  the  reading,  which 
would  utterly  destroy  the  sense  and  power  of  the  lines.  They 
should  be  thus  barred,  timed,  and  accented : 

*  See  this  subject  diffusely  and  learnedly  treated  in  Steele's 
Prosodia  RationaUs. 


158  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

I         I    I         I     I       I  I  III  ^'       I      «^ 


On  the  I  bare  |  earth  '^  |  ^  ex  |  posed  he  |  lies,  '^    | 

I 


'      0     \   0   0\    0  '  0\     0'  0     \   0*      ' 


'"AVith  I  not  a  |  friend''  |  '~to  |  close  his  |  eyes.*^  | 

By  which,  we  find,  that  these  are  verses  of  six  bars,  in  com- 
mon time,  the  rests  filling  up  the  bars,  exactly  where  the  sense 
requires  a  pause.  And  so  in  the  following  examples :  in  which 
it  will  be  seen  that  verses  which  would  be  said  by  the  proso- 
dians  to  consist  oi'  four  /eet,  are,  in  general,  verses  of  six  bars; 
and  that  what  would,  in  scanning,  be  called  by  prosodians  pen- 
tavieters,  or  Jive-feet  verses,  are  really  lines  of  s/.r,  and  some- 
times even  of  ei^ht  bars. — The  time,  either  triple  or  common, 
is  denoted  in  the  following  examples  by  the  figure  2,  (common,) 
or  3,  (triple.) 

THREE    BARS. 

/  /  / 

2.  I  Oh  the  I  sight  en  |  trancing  | 

I  '^  When  the  |  morning's  |  beam  is  |  glancmg,  | 

I  ~  O'er  I  files  ar  |  rayed  '"  | 

I  -  With  I  helm  and  |  blade  ^  | 
j  '•And  I  plumes  in  the  |  gay  wind  |  dancing.  | 

3.  I  ""  Up  I  early  and  |  late,""  | 

I  ^  To  I  toil  and  to  |  wait,''  j 
I  I"  To  I  do  as  one's  |  bid,''  | 
I  ^  Yet  for  I  ever  be  |  chid,'"  | 
j  f"  111  I  humor  to  |  bear,"'  ) 


MEASTTRE    OF    VERSE.  159 

/  / 

I  ^  And  I  yet  not  to  |  dare,'^  | 

I  '^  Tho'  with  I  anger  we  |  burn,^  | 

I  ■•  To  be  I  cross  in  re  |  turn."  | 

FOUR    BARS. 

/  /  /  / 

3.    I  Place  me  in  ]  regions  of  e  |  ternal'  |  winter^  | 
/  /  It 

I  Where  not  a  |  blossom  to  the  |  breeze  can  |  open"  but  j 

I   Darkening  |  tempests"  |  closing  all  a  |  round  me^  [ 

Chill  the  ere  |  ation.  |  ^ 

J8.    I  Sage  be  |  neath  a  (  spreading  |  oak  ^  j 
I  Sate  the  |  Druid  |  hoary  |  chief  "  | 
I  Every  |  burning  |  word  he  |  spoke  ~  | 
I  Full  of  I  rage  and  |  full  of  |  grief  "  ( 

SIX    AND    FOUR    BARS. 

3.  I  '^  "^  When  |  he  who   a  |  dores  thee     |  "  "'  has  |  left  but 

the  I  name  ""  | 

I  "  Of  his  I  fault  and  his  [  sorrow  be  |  hind  ~    | 
/  /  / 

I  Oh !    "  I  say  "  |  "  wilt   thou  |  weep   when    they  | 

darken  the  |  fame  "  | 

I  "  Of  a  I  hfe  that  for  (  thee  was  re  |  signed  ~  ?  | 

SIX    BARS. 

2.  I  "A  I  chilles'  |  A\Tath''to  |  Greece  the  |  direful  |  spring'""  | 
I  '"  Of  I  woes  un  |  number'd "  |  heavenly  \  Goddess'^  |  smg.*" 


160  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

It  will  be  found  by  reading  verse  according  to  this  system, 
— of  marking  the  rhythm  by  time  and  accentuation, — that  it 
will  flow  much  more  easily  than  when  read  by  prosodial  scan- 
ning :  nor  shall  we  be  obliged  to  make  elisions  of  vowels  for 
the  purpose  of  preserving  the  apparent  regularity  of  the  line, — 
that  is,  according  to  the  plan  of  counting  the  syllables  on  the 
fingers.  No  poet  has  suffered  more  from  this  pedantic  method 
of  measuring  English  verse,  than  Shakspeare,  whose  commen- 
tators have  not  scrupled  to  add  syllables  to,  or  deduct  syllables 
from  his  lines,  m  order  to  give  them  "the  right  butter-woman's 
pace  to  market ;"  and  this  because  these  learned  gentlemen,  in- 
stead of  receiving  the  music  of  his  verse  through  their  ears, 
measured  his  lines,  like  tape,  upon  their  fingers :  and  if  they 
did  not  happen  exactly  to  fit  the  prescribed  length,  they  laid 
him  upon  the  Procrustes'  bed  of  their  prosodial  pedantry,  and 
stretched  him  out,  if  too  short,  or  cut  him  doAvn,  if  too  long ! 
Thus  they  have  succeeded,  in  some  instances,  in  "  curtailing" 
his  verse  of  its  beauty  and  "  fair  proportions,"  by  the  elision 
or  blending  of  vowels,  whose  utterance  really  forms  the  music 
of  the  lines.     For  example,  of  the  line 

I  O  '•  I  Romeo !  |  Romeo !  |  wherefore  |  art  thou  |  Romeo  ?  | 

they  would  make  a  verse  of  what  they  would  call  five  feet,  with 
a  redundant  syllable  ;  and,  to  do  this,  they  are  obliged  to  reduce 
the  melodious  name  of  Ro-me-o  to  two  syllables ;  and  scan  it 
thus : — 

Oh  Ro  I  myo  Ro  |  myo  where  |  fore  art  |  tliou  Ro  |  myol — 

thus  clipping  and  defacing  the  language,  for  the  sake  of  level- 
ling it  to  the  standard  of  a  false  prosody. 

Again,  if  we  follow  this  \)roiioAm\  Jinger-measuring  of  verse, 
what  becomes  of  tlie  force  and  depth  of  the  heart-wrung  ex- 
clamation of  Samson,  (Agonistes,)  when  he  exclaims: — 

Oh!  dark,  dark,  dark,  amid  tlic  l)laze  of  noon! 

The  prosodians  would  thus  measure  it : 


1    ^ 

1              ^      1        1 

1    ^ 

9  *9 

1. 

9» 

dark 

I 

dark  |       a  -  |  mid  the 

blaze  of 

noon 

MEASURE   OF   VEKSE.  161 

Oh  dark  |  dark  dark  |  amid  |  the  blaze  |  of  noon  | 

and  thus  destroy  all  the  force  and  passion  of  the  line :  a  rational 
prosody,  preserving  the  feeling,  as  well  as  the  rhythm  of  the 
verse,  would  thus  divide  it  into  eight  bars,  timing  it  duly,  and 
marking  it  with  rests  that  add  to  its  beauty  and  power. 


2.  I  Oh  I  dark 

Thus  we  preserve  all  the  expression  of  the  verse,  and  dis- 
tinguish its  melody  and  rhythm  from  such  a  verse  as  the  fol- 
lowing, which  has  exactly  the  same  number  of  syllables  as  the 
above  line,  and  would,  by  the  prosodians,  be  scanned  exactly  in 
the  same  manner  ;  yet  it  has  quite  a  different  movement : 

A  biirdenous  drone,  to  visitants  a  gaze. 

If  we  follow  the  prosodians,  we  shall  thus  scan  this  line : 

A  burd'  I  nous  drone  |  to  vis  |  itants  |  a  gaze. 

If  we  follow  good  taste,  common  sense,  and  rhythmical  accen- 
tuation, we  shall  thus  measure  it : 

3.  I  '*  "^  A  I  burdenous  |  drone""  to  |  visitants  a  |  gaze."^ 

It  is  thus  a  line  of  five  bars,  in  triple  time :  and  the  change 
from  common  time  is  in  keeping  with  the  expression. 

The  same  of  the  following  line,  Avhich  owes  its  lightness  and 
beauty  to  its  accentuation  and  triple  time : 

3.  Love-darting  eyes,  or  tresses  like  the  morn. 

It  is  on  the  variation  of  time  and  accentuation  that  the  verse  of 
Milton  depends  so  much  for  its  force  and  melody.  Tlie  poet  haa 
studiously  adapted  the  time  and  movement  of  his  verse  to  the 
effect  intemled  to  be  produced  ;  but  the  sjstem  of  scanning  re- 
duces all  verse  to  the  same  humdrum  jog-trot. 


162  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

'•  The  native  wood-notes,  wild,"  says  Kemble.  '•  which  could 
delight  the  cultivated  ear  of  a  Milton,  are  not  to  be  regu- 
lated by  those  who  measure  verses  by  their  fingers." 

And  yet  it  is  recorded  of  Kemble.  (and  the  anecdote  is  an 
excellent  satire  upon  prosodial  scanning.)  that,  in  obedience 
to  this  jinger-measuring  of  verse,  the  second  of  the  following 
lines,  in  the  Tempest, 

•• I'll  rack  thee  with  old  cramps. 

Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aches ;  make  thee  roar, 
That  beasts  shall  tremble  at  thy  din" — 

was  thus  read  by  Kemble: 

"  Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aiiches,  make  thee  roar," — 

an  absurdity  really  ridiculous,  committed  in  order  to  make 
up  the  full  number  of  ten  syllables,  or  five  feet,  of  which, 
according  to  prosodial  scanning,  the  verse  is  composed.  The 
time,  measure,  and  reading  of  the  line  are  thus : 

^  I   i  1^   i  ^  r    1, ~   I   1    I 

C      &*  0         9  9  #'         0       0         0    • 

2.  ■"  Fill  I  all  thy  |  bones  "  with  |  aches  ■"  |  make  tliee  |  roar  "^  I 

The  rest  after  '•  aches"  fills  up  the  rhythm,  prevents  the 
absurdity  of  perverting  "  aches"  into  a  word  of  two  syllables, 
and  adds  to  the  force  and  expression  of  the  line.  Thus  we 
see  that,  in  rhythmical  reading,  the  rests  or  pauses  are  aa 
necessary  to  tlie  measure  as  the  notes  or  syllables  themselves. 
The  CcrsJiral  pause,  spoken  of  by  lilair  and  the  prosodians, 
may  soini^tinu's  suffice,  with  the  rest  at  the  close  of  the  line, 
to  make  out  the  rhythm  and  sense  of  tlic  verse ;  but,  for  fine, 
musical,  and  expressive  reading  of  verse,  other  rests  are  ne- 
cessar)'',  not  only  in  the  middle  and  at  the  close  of  the  line, 
but  in  the  first,  second,  third,  fourth,  fifth,  or  Avhatever  bar 
the  rhythm,  sense,  or  feeling  demands  them.  And  the  accen- 
tuation of  the  lines  will  not  run  on  in  the  same  unvarying 


RHYTH.-vnCAL    READING.  163 

iambic  jog-trot,  but  will  change  from  common  to  triple 
lime,  and  back  again,  just  as  the  poet,  (if  he  have  a  fine 
ear.)  shall  vary  his  verse,  to  produce  a  severe  or  light  and 
airy  effect. 

The  following  lines  in  blank  verse  and  common 
time,  are  exceedingly  rhythmical  and  melodious  ;  but 
their  rhythm  Avill  be  almost  destroyed,  and  they  will 
become  merely  poetical  j^rose,  if,  in  delivering  them, 
we  neglect  to  mark  the  variation,  which  is  occasion- 
ally made  by  the  poet  in  the  movement  of  his  verse, — 
by  change  of  time  and  accentuation. 

A  SABBATH  MORN.— Grahamb. 

f  f  It 

How  still  the  morning""  of  tlie  hallow'd  day  !"* 

/  /  /        /  / 

Mute  is  the  voice"^  of  rural  labor, ^-  hush'd'' 

The  ploughboy's  whistle''  and  the  milkmaid's  song. — 

The  scythe  lies  gHttering^-  in  the  dewj-  wreath'^ 

Of  tedded  grass,'^-  mingled  with  faded  flowers,"' 

fir/  / 

That  yestermorn*^  bloom'd''  waving  in  the  breeze. 

Sounds"  the  most  faint"  attract  the  ear" — ^Ihe  hum** 

Of  early  bee"^  the  trickling  of  the  dew,'' 
/  /  /  / 

The  distant  bleating""  midway  up  the  hill. — 

/  .  /  /  / 

Calmness  sits  throned"-  on  yon  unmoving  cloud. 

''  /  /  / 

To  him  who  wanders'^  o'er  the  upland  leas,"' 

The  blackbird's  note"'  comes  melloAver  from  the  dale ; 

And  sweeter  from  the  sky""  the  gladsome  lark"" 

Warbles  his  heav'n-tuned  song ;  the  lulling  brook"' 

Murmurs  more  gently"  down  the  deep-worn  glen ; 


164  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

While  from  yon  roof*'-  whose  curHng  smoke*' 

O'ermounts  the  mist*'-  is  heard,*'  at  intervals," 
t  I  J  r  / 

The  voice  of  psalms*'-  the  simple  song  of  praise. 

A  rest,  or  slight  suspension  of  voice,  at  the  end  of 
each  hne,  is  essential  to  the  rhythmical  reading  of  all 
verse  :  it  can  never  be  omitted  except  in  the  delivery  of 


DRAMATIC  POETRY 


in  which,  the  suspension  at  the  close  of  each  line  must 
not  be  allowed  to  interrupt  the  flow  of  language  and 
feeling.  The  great  object  of  dramatic  poetry  is  the 
natural  and  powerful  expression  of  passion  :  this  is  the 
grace  paramount,  to  which  all  others  must  bend,  and 
which  must  not  be  sacrificed  to  any  minor  embellish- 
ments. It  is  true,  the  verse  in  which  that  passionate 
expression  is  clothed  lends  it  dignity  and  grace,  and 
therefore,  even  on  the  stage,  rhythm  and  metre  must 
be  preserved  in  delivery  :  but  it  must  be  done  easily 
and  without  pedantry  or  apparent  effort.  For  he 
would  make  but  a  poor  impression  on  the  heart,  who, 
in  an  overwhelming  burst  of  passion,  should  stop  to 
note  a  caesural  pause,  or  the  rest  which,  in  ordinary 
poetical  reading,  maiks  the  close  of  the  line.  If  he  be 
an  artist,  a  correct  ear  and  good  taste  will  prevent 
the  actor  wantonly  destroying  the  poet's  rhythm ; 
judgment  will  guide  liim  in  passages  where  he  may, 
with  propriety  and  grace,  linger  on  the  melody  of  the 
lines  ;  while  the  power  of  truthful  feeling  and  passion- 
ate enthusiasm,  will  exalt  him  above  the  trammels 


RHVXHMJCAL    READING. CADENCE.  165 

of  ordinary  rule  which  would  tame  his  imagination, 
and  fetter  his  energies. 

This  much  is  all  that  I  have  thought  necessary  to 
remark  on  the  subject  of  the  delivery  of  dramatic 
poetry.  Its  further  study,  with  constant  and  patient 
practice,  added  to  a  good  ear,  a  cultivated  voice,  and 
a  taste  refined  by  reading  and  education,  is  requisite 
to  the  actor.  What  I  have  here  incidentally  observed 
is  sufficient  for  the  orator,  the  scholar,  and  the  unpro- 
fessional reader,  aiming  at  an  elegant  style  of  Elocu- 
tion. 


2.  Melody  and  Cadence  are  requisite  to  give  finish 
to  rhythmical  Elocution, 

Melody  and  Cadence  are  graces  arising  from  the  arrange- 
ment and  variation  of  pitch  by  inflection  of  voice. 

Read  aloud,  as  marked,  the  following 

EXAMPLE. 

On  her  white  breast"^  a  sparkUng  cross  she  wore*"- 
Which  Jews  might  kiss'^  and  infidels  adore. 

Experiment  will  convince  the  reader  that  no  other  arrange- 
ment of  inflections  on  these  lines,  can  produce  a  melody 
equal  to  that  which  is  here  given.  That  melody  pervades  both 
verses :  in  the  closing  line  of  the  sense,  I  call  it  cadence,  for  ca- 
dence is  the  consummation  or  close  of  a  melody. 

This  melody  is  produced  by  alternation  of  infection :  the 
■cadence  marked  in  the  second  line  oi  the  couplet  is  distinguish- 


10)6  ART    OF    ELOt-UTIO.^. 

ed  as  the  harmonic  cadence  ;*  it  is  formed  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  two  intermediate  rising  inflections  of  a  third  and  fifth, 
between  two  falling  inflections :  the  melody  of  the  first  line  is 
composed  of  a  similar  alternation  of  inflection,  with  the  varia- 
tion of  a  rising  inflection  to  mark  the  suspension  of  sense,  at 
the  termination  of  the  line. 

The  introduction  of  this  melody  and  cadence,  where  ihe 
sense  will  admit  of  it,  lends  additional  music  to  the  rhythm  : 
but  they  must  not  be  used  to  supersede  just  inflection  or  Em- 
phasis required  by  the  sense :  for  the  melody  must  never  be 
permitted  to  destroy  the  force  of  the  line.  Nor  must  this  ca- 
dence be  too  frequently  resorted  to.  or  it  will  give  a  sing-song 
sameness  to  the  reading — tiresome  and  unmeaning. 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  the  inflections  of  the  voice^ 
in  the  reading  of  verse,  are  not  to  be  marked  so 
strongly,  or,  as  I  may  say,  so  angularly,  as  in  prose- 
reading.  Smoothness,  and  an  easy,  flowing  style,  are 
to  be  cuhivated  ;  and,  therefore,  the  inflections  must 
be,  as  it  were,  rounded  and  poHshed ;  so  that  the 
voice  shall  not  leap,  but  gently  undulate  from  tone  to 
tone,  and  float  along  in  an  unbroken  stream  of  sound. 

A  great  fault  in  the  reading  of  verse,  is  the  too 
strongly  marking,  or,  as  I  call  it,  hammering  the 
rhyme:  this  is  destructive  of  melody,  and  has  a  most 
unpleasing  effect  on  the  ear.     To  avoid  it,  we  must 

*  The  harmonic  cadence  may  be  used  with  grace  in  prose- 
declamation,  as  well  as  in  verse ;  when  the  passage  does  not 
demand  any  particular  force,  as : 

I  shall  content  myself  with  wishing''  that  I  may  be  one  of 

those'^  whose  follies  may  cease  with  their  youth''-  and  not  of 

t^t  number''  who  are  ignoranf  in  spite  of  experience. — Johns. 


EHTTHMICAL    READI^■G. SMOOTHNESS-  167 

keep  the  voice  suspended,  avoiding  a  frequent  re- 
currence of  the  falUng  inflection  at  the  close  of  the 
line,  except  where  the  close  of  the  sense,  too,  demands 
i-L  Otherwise  we  shall  fall  into  that  methodical,  alter- 
nate, closing  rise  and  fall,  which  deprives  rhythmical 
Elocution  of  all  variety  and  grace. 

Pope's  lines  are  good  practice  for  melodious  read- 
ing :  for  he  frequently  suspends  the  sense  through  se- 
veral successive  lines,  and,  so,  affords  opportunity  for 
variety  of  inflection  and  cadence.  I  therefore  give 
(marked,)  a  passage  extracted  from  his  Essay  ou 
Man. 

HAPPINESS. 

Oh  Happiness!''  our  being's  end  and  aim!''- 
Grood,*'  pleasure,"  ease."  content !"-  whate'er  thy  name*'^ 
That  something,  still"'  which  prompts  th'  eternal  sigh,*'- 
For  ■which  we  bear  to  hve,"  or  dare  to  die  ;"- 
Which  still  so  near  us,"  yet  beyond  us  Hes,"*- 
O'erlook'd,  seen  double""  by  the  fool  and  Avise  -,"^- 
Plant  of  celestial  seed!"-  if  dropp'd  below,'' 
Say  in  what  mortal  soil^  thou  deign'st  to  grow'?''- 
Fair  op'ning"  to  some  court's  propitious  shine,"- 
Or  deep  with  diamonds"  in  the  flaming  mine  ?'- 
Twin'd  Avith  the  wreaths'  Parnassian  laurels  yield,''- 
Or  reap'd  in  iron  harvests"  of  the  field  ?  '- 
Where  grows  1  where  grows  it  not  1  If  vain  our  toil,'' 
We  ought  to  blame  the  culture,**  not  the  soil: 
"  1  to  no  spot'  is  happiness  sincere,''- 


168  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

'Tis  nowhere  to  be  found,'^  or  everywhere : 

'Tis  never  to  be  bought,"  but  always  free,'^- 

And  fled  from  monarchs,"'  dwells,  my  friend,  with  thee. 

It  is  not  within  the  scope  of  this  work  to  analyse  the  differ- 
ent rhythms  and  metres  used  in  versification  :  but  for  the  con- 
venience of  the  reader,  the  Practice  at  the  end  of  this  Division 
contains  extracts  in  a  variety  of  rhythm ;  by  exercise  on  which, 
in  accordance  with  the  preceding  rules  and  directions,  he  may 
acquire  an  elegant  and  easy  style  of  rhythmical  Elocution, 

We  now  proceed  to 

EXPRESSION. 

Expression  is  tlie  modulating  or  regulating  the 
organ  of  the  voice  to  tones  of  gentleness  or  force,  ac- 
cording to  the  nature  and  degree  of  feeling,  or  passion 
expressed  in  words.  Expression  is  the  natural  lan- 
guage of  emotion.  It  is,  in  Elocution,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, a  vocal  imitation  of  passion.  But  this  must  be 
done  without  "  aggravating  the  voice"  (as  Bottom  has 
it).  It  is  a  grace  which  requires  the  nicest  manage- 
ment ;  and  cannot  be  achieved  but  with  the  best  cul- 
tivation of  ear  and  voice  ;  in  order  to  catch  and  re- 
echo the  tones  of  the  heart  to  the  ears  and  hearts  of 
others.  It  depends  mainly  upon  pitch  of  voice,  and 
the  expression  of  each  different  feeling  has  its  appropri- 
ate pitch.* 

*  Roger  Aecham,  tutor  to  Q,ueen  Elizabeth,  thus  quaintly 
writes,  touching  the  matter  of  pitch  of  voice: 

'■  Whore  a  matter  is  spoken  with  an  apte  voyce  for  everye 
affection,  the  hearers,  for  the  most    part,  are  moved  as  the 


EXPRESSION. MONOTONE.  169 

Expression  therefore  is  a  refinement  on  Intonation : 
they  go  hand  in  hand :  we  cannot  think  of  the  one 
without  the  other.  Intonation  gives  the  voice  vohmie 
and  power ;  expression  uses  and  adapts  it  to  the  feel- 
ing of  the  moment. 

Even  monotone  has  its  expression. 

MONOTONE 

is  intonation  without  change  of  pitch :   that  is,  preserving  a 
fullness  of  tone,  without  ascent  or  descent  on  the  scale. 

THE    EXPRESSION    OF   MONOTONE. 

It  expresses  repose  of  feeling  or  scene — the  calm  confidence 
of  power — vastness  of  thought — veneration — and  the  over-aw- 
ing sublimity  of  grandeur. 

But  it  must  not  be  hstless,  vapid,  soulless  monotone  ; 
it  must  be  a  deep,  swelling,  crescendo  monotone,  speak- 
ing as  it  were  from  the  recesses  of  the  heart ;  as, 


^_J \    _^ ^1 

,— ,'         -.VI     -^^ 

1        N 

^^-^-Ti-r=i= 

:5.7.-5i^zi^: 

VM/     ) 

1    1     1 

Calm  -  ness     sits  throned  on  yon  un  -  mo-  ving  cloud. 

speaker  woulde ;  but  when  a  man  is  always  in  one  lone,  like  a 
humble-bee,  or  else  noAv  in  the  top  of  the  church,  now  downs 
that  no  man  knoweth  wliere  to  have  him  ;  or  piping  like  a  reede, 
or  roaring  like  a  bull,  as  some  lawyers  do,  which  thinke  they 
do  best  when  they  crye  loudest ;  these  shall  never  move,  as  I 
know  many  well-learned  have  done,  because  theyr  voyces  were 
not  stayed  afore,  with  learninge  to  singe.  For  all  voyces,  great 
and  small,  base  and  shrill,  may  be  holpen  and  brought  to  a  good 
point  by  learninge  to  singe." 

H 


170  ART    OF    ELOCUTIOX. 

It  requires  practice ;  and  the  practice  of  monotone 
tends  essentially  to  the  improvement  of  intonation. 

The  sign  of  monotone  is  an  even  line  or  marii  (denoting  an 
even  tone  of  voice)  over  the  words  to  be  spoken  witliout  inflec- 
tion :  but  mark, — tlie  sound  must  swell  and  gather  volume  as  it 
proceeds. 

EXERCISE    ON    MONOTONE. 

Our  revels  now  are  ended :  these  our  actors, 

As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 

Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air ; 

And  lilie  the  ba^less  fabric'^  of  this  vision"^- 

The  cloud-capp'd  towers"'  the  gorgeous  palaces'^ 

The  solemn  temples'*  the  great  globe  itself  ">- 

Yea,''  all  which  it  inherif  shall  dissolve''- 

And''  like  tins  ulTsubstantial  pageant"^  faded" 

Leave  not  a  rack*"  behnid. 

Shaks. 

The  following  passage  from  Talfourd's  classical  tragedy  of 
Ion  is  also  good  practice  in  the  Intonation  of  Monotone. 
Commence  on  a  deep,  full  tone. 

Ye  elclest  Go3s, 
WEo  in  no  statues  of  exactest  form 
Are  palpable ;  who  shun  the  azure  heights 
Of  beautiful  Olympus,  and  the  sound 
Of  ever-young  Apollo's  minstrelsy  ; 
Yef  min(lful  of  the  empTre  which  ye  heTd 
Oyer  dim  CHabs.''-  keep  revengeful  wrath 


PITCH.  171 

On  falling  nafiohs,  and  on  kingly  lines 
About  to  sink  for  ever ;  ye,  who  sliecl 
Into  the  passions  of  eartli's  giant  brood'' 
And  their  fierce  usages'^  the  sense  of  justice  ; 
Who  clothe  the  fated  batTIements  of  tyraiiny '' 
With  blackness  as  a  funeral  pall,  and  breathe 
Thro'  the  proud  halls  of  time-emboldened  guilt 
Portents  of  ruin,"'-  hear  me  !     In  your  presence, 
For  now  I  feel  you  nigh,  I  dedicate 
This  arm  to  the  destruction  of  the  king 
And  of  his  race !  O  keep  me  pitiless  ! 
Expel  all  human  weakness  from  my  frame, 
That  this  keen  weapon  shake  not  when  his  heart 
Should  feel  its  point ;  and  if  he  has  a  child 
Whose  blood  is  needful  to  the  sacrifice 
My  country  asks,  harden  my  soul  to  shed  it ! 

PITCH    OF    VOICE. 

Expression,  as  I  have  said,  depends  chiefly  upon 
pitch  of  voice. 

We  all  know  that  the  tones  of  the  voice  vary  con- 
siderably, according  to  the  affection  of  mind  or  passion 
under  which  a  person  speaks.  We  sec  this  daily  in 
nature — we  hear  a  man  give  a  command  in  one  tone, 
and  make  an  entreaty  or  ask  a  favor  in  another  :  his 
voice  grows  sharper  and  shriller  in  rage,  and  softer 
and  more  liquid  in  tenderness  and  affection  :  the  voice 


172  ART   OF  ELOCUTION. 

is  light  and  rapid  in  pleasure, — low,  moaning,  and 
broken  in  grief, — dull  and  heavy  in  pain, — cracked, 
wild,  and  shrieking  in  despair.  The  voice  of  deep 
passion, — sorrow,  love,  woe,  remorse,  pity,  <fcc. — is 
seated  in  the  chest,  [voce  di  petto,)  and  its  pitch  is  low  : 
while  that  of  more  impulsive  ^iassion,  as  rage,  delight, 
triumph,  &,c.  is  high  in  pitch,  and  partakes  of  the  qual- 
ity of  the  head  voice — {voce  di  testa).  It  is  on  our 
power  to  command  our  voice  at  will  to  any  pitch,  that 
we  must  rely  for  vocal  expression  :  that  is,  the  adapta- 
tion of  tone  to  sentiment  and  passion. 

Pitch  is  quite  distinct  from  force  ;  by  which,  hoAV- 
ever,  its  effect  may  be  aided  and  increased. 

The  pitch  of  the  speaking  voice  may  be  divided  into 

MIDDLE  PITCH, 
HIGH  PITCH, 
LOW  PITCH. 

By  'middle,  or  mean  pitch,  I  intend  the  ordinary 
pitch  of  voice,  as  used  in  common  conversation,  un- 
marked by  passion.  That  pitch  varies  according  to  the 
quality  or  character  of  the  individual  voice,  whether 
it  be  soprano,  tenor,  or  bass. 

Suppose,  for  example,  the  natural  key  of  any  voice 
to  be  B  \),   and  the   prevailing  tone  of  its  ordinary 

speech  to  be  ^-     ''^~,  the  middle  pitch  of  that  voice 

may  be  considered  to  extend  a  third  above  and  a 
third  below  that  tone  :  and  so  of  any  other  prevailing 
tone  of  any  voice. 


MIDDLE    PITCH.  i /3 

Above  and  below  the  range  of  the  middle  pitch,  are 
the  high  and  Ioid  pitch  respectively.  Low  pitch  may 
be  said  to  be  a  third  below  the  mean  pitch  ;  and  high 
pitch,  a  third  above  it :  so  that  where  middle  pitch  as- 
cending ends,  high  pitch  begins  ;  where  middle  pitch 
descending  ends,  low  pitch  begins  :  the  range  of  each, 
high  or  low,  depending  of  conrse  on  the  compass  of 
the  speaker's  voice. 

These  are  the  clearest  and  most  distinct  indicia 
that  I  am  able  to  give  for  the  regulation  of  pitch  on 
the  spealving  voice. 

Now  each  of  these  three  pitches, — the  middle,  the 
high,  and  the  loiv, — has  its  appropriate  sphere  of  use 
or  expression. 

1.  The  Middle  is  the  proper  pitch  for  narration, 
description,  (when  not  particularly  animated,)  state- 
ment, and  moral  reflection,  or  calm  reasoning. 

Such  a  poetical  description  as  the  following,  for  example,  re- 
quires only  middle  pitch. 

EXERCISE    ON    MIDDLE    PITCH. 

Sometime  we  see  a  cloud  that's  dragonish ; 

A  vapor,  sometime,  like  a  bear,  or  lion, 

A  tower'd  citadel,  or  pendant  rock, 

A  forked  mountain,  or  blue  promontory. 

With  trees  upon  it.  that  nod  unto  the  world, 

And  mock  our  eyes  with  air ;  thou  hast  seen  these  signs  j 

They  are  black  vesper's  pageants. 

That  which  is  now  a  horse,  even  with  a  thought, 

The  rack  dislimns ;  and  makes  it  indistinct 

As  water  is  in  water. 

Shaks. 


174  ART  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Again,  such  a  passage  as  the  following  requires,  for  the  most 
part,  with  some  variation,  only  middle  pitch  ;  but  the  delivery 
should  be  energetic  and  forceful : 

Breathes  there  the  man  with  soul  so  dead 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  ? 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burn'd, 
As  home  his  foot-steps  he  hath  turn'd 
From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ? 
If  such  there  breathe,  go  mark  him  well : 
For  him  no  minstrel's  raptures  swell. 
High  tho'  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  Avealth.  as  wish  can  claim ; 
Despite  these  titles,  power,  and  pelf, 
The  Avretch  concentred  all  in  self, 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  he  sprung. 
Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung ! 

Scott. 

In  fine,  for  all  passages  where  there  is  no  passion  expressed, 
or  which  are  not  marked  by  strong  excitement,  or  impetuosity 
of  feeling, — or  are  not  descriptive  of  stirring  action,  the  middle 
pitch  is  in  general  sufficient. 

2.  High  Pitch  is  the  representative  of  elevated 
feeling,  and  impetuous,  impulsive  passion  :  joy,  exul- 
tation, rage,  invective,  threat,  eagerness,  all  speak 
naturally  in  high  pitch  :  it  is  also  proper  to  stirring 
description,  or  animated  narration. 

It  is  the  proper  pitch  for  such  a  j)assage  as  the  following, — 
the  buoyant,  joyous  feeling  of  which  is  best  expressed  by  the 
light  and  sparkling  tones  of  high  pitch. 


HIGH    PITCH.  175 

EXERCISE    ON    HIGH    PITCH. 

If  I  may  trust  the  flattering  truth  of  sleep, 
My  dreams  presage  some  joyful  news  at  hand  ; 
My  bosom's  lord  sits  lightly  on  his  throne, 
And  all  this  day  an  unaccustomed  spirit 
Lifts  me  above  the  ground  with  cheeriul  thoughts. 

Shaks. 

And  the  following  picture  of  Cheerfulness  requires  high  pitch, 
and  a  light  and  brisk  articulation,  to  harmonise  with  its  airy 
and  elastic  effect  : 

But  oh !  how  altered  was  its  sprightlier  tone 

When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue, 

Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flung, 
Her  buskins  gemm'd  with  morning  dew, 

Blew  an  inspiring  air  that  dale  and  thicket  rung : 
The  hunter's  call,  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known. 
The  oak-crowned  sisters  and  their  chaste-eyed  Q,ueen 
Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys  were  seen, 
Peeping  from  forth  their  allies  green  ; 
Brown  Exercise  rejoic'd  to  hear, 
And  Sport  leap'd  up,  and  seiz'd  his  beechen  spear. 

Collins. 

The  lofty  enthusiasm  of  the  aspiring  Hotspur,  in  the  well- 
known  speech  which  follows,  is  also  best  expressed  in  the  high 
pitch,  (with  a  variation,  for  effect,  to  low  pitch  in  the  fourth  line.) 

By  heavens !  methinks  it  were  an  easy  leap 
To  pluck  bright  honor  from  the  pale-fac'd  moon ; 
Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep 
Where  fathom  line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 
And  pluck  up  drowned  honor  by  the  locks ; 
So  he  that  doth  redeem  her  thence  might  weai 
Without  corrival  all  her  dignities  ; — 
But  out  upon  this  half-fac'd  fellowship ! 

Shaks. 


176  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

3.  liOw  Pitch  is  the  natural  expression  of  deep- 
seated  feeling  and  concentrated  passion,  nursed  dark- 
ly in  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  heart :  it  is  tiie  tone 
of  grief, — suppressed  rage, — brooding  thought, — 
very  solenui  reflection,  —  melancholy,  —  hate,  —  re- 
morse; and  also,  in  its  softest  and  deepest  expression, 
of  love  and  veneration. 

EXERCISE    ON    LOW   PITCH. 

With  woful  measures'^  wan  Despair, — 

Low''  sullen  sounds'^  his  grief  beguiled*'- 
A  solemn''  strange*'  and  mingled''  air.  — 

Collins. 

Now  o'er  the  one  lialf  world 
Natare  seems  dead,  aud  wicked  dreams 
Abuse  the  curtain'd  sleep :  now  wTtohcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  offerings  ;  and  wither'd  murder, 
Alarum'd  by  his  sentinel;  the  wolf, 
Whose  howl's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 
With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  design 
Moves  like  a  ghost. 

Shaks. 

Oh  !  now,  for  ever. 

Farewell  the  tranquil  mind  !  farewell  content ! 

Farewell  the  plumed  troop,  and  the  big  wars 

That  make  ambition  virtue  !     O,  farewell ! 

Farewell  the  neighing  steed,  and  the  shrill  trump. 

The  spirit-stirring  drum,  the  eur-piercing  fife, 

The  royal  banner,  and  all  quality. 

Pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war! 

And  oil.  you  mortal  engines,  whose  rude  throats 

The  immortal  Jove's  dread  clamors  counterfeit, 

Farewell !    Othello's  occupation's  gone ! 

Shak8. 


FORCE.  177 

Now  it  is  on  the  change  and  variation  of  these  se- 
veral pitches  that  an  orator  or  an  actor  must  depend 
for  power  of  expression  ;  and  the  greater  the  facility 
with  which  he  can  make  his  transitions  from  pitch  to 
pitch,  the  greater  will  be  his  effect  on  his  audience. 
For  there  are  many  passages  in  vehement  oratory, 
poetry,  and  especially  dramatic  poetry,  that  require 
rapid  and  frequent  transitions  from  high  pitch  to  low, 
and  run  through  every  variety  of  tone. 

ENERGY,  OR    FORCE. 

Intimately  allied  to  expression,  is  energy,  or  force. 

As  Expression  is  variety  of  Intonation,  Energy  may 
be  called  the  Emphasis  of  Expression.  It  is  the  life, 
the  soul,  the  animating  spirit.  Without  it,  the  speaker 
may  be  correct,  and  even  agreeable,  by  a  due  observance 
of  rule;  but  if  he  \a.ck  energij,  he  will  be  listened  to  with- 
out interest ;  his  voice  will  fall  powerless  on  the  ear,  and 
neidier  "  awake  the  senses,"  nor  "  stir  the  blood." 

Energy,  it  is  true,  depends  somewhat  on  individual 
temperament  and  constitution.  But  even  where  natu- 
ral or  physical  energy  is  deficient,  an  energetic  manner 
may  be  acquired  by  practice  and  exercise  under  judi- 
cious direction  ;  just  as  the  muscular  powers  may  be 
improved,  and  bodily  vigor  increased,  even  in  a  feeble 
frame,  under  a  course  of  training  and  well-regulated 
exercise. 

The  first  requisite,  in  order  to  create  an  interest  in 
others,  is  to  feel,  or  at  least  to  exhibit,  an  earnestness 
ourselves.     We  must  be  in  earnest.     Between  the  ora- 

H* 


178  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

tor  and  his  auditory,  there  is  a  certain  involuntary 
sympathy  communicated  from  one  to  the  other.  If  he 
be  himself  animated  and  energetic,  his  audience  soon 
acknowledge  a  kindred  spirit ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  he 
be  cold,  they  catch  the  infection ;  if  he  be  tame,  they 
are  apathetic  ;  if  he  be  spiritless,  they  are  listless  :  their 
torpor  again  re-acts  upon  him,  and  both  orator  and 
audience  sleep  together. 

Eii  .^rgy  quickens  and  infuses  life  into  the  style  :  it 
warms,  it  revivifies  with  its  touch.  It  adds  a  brisker 
movement  to  the  voice  :  it  flushes  the  clieek,  it  lights 
the  eye,  it  animates  the  frame  ;  and  passing  like  an 
electric  spark  from  speaker  to  audience,  it  enkindles  in 
them  a  sympathetic  spirit,  it  arouses  their  enthusiasm, 
it  takes  possession  of  their  hearts,  and  places  their  feel- 
ings, their  reason,  and  their  will,  in  the  hands  of  him 
whose  power  has  agitated  the  recesses  of  their  souls. 

Force  is.  after  pitch,  the  next  constituent  of  Expres- 
sion :  and  the  increasing  or  diminishing  the  amount  of 
force  on  any  passage  is  a  matter  requiring  nice  taste, 
and  artistical  execution,  in  governing  the  voice  io  forte 
(loud),  and  piawo  (soft). 

TIME. 

The  last  constituent  of  Expression  is — Ti7?ie.  The 
time,  that  is,  the  rapidity  or  slowness  of  our  delivery, 
must  accord  with  the  character  of  the  feeling  or  pas- 
sion expressed, — whetlier  impetuous  or  concentrated  ; 
— oi  ihe  action,  or  scene  described, — whether  stirring 
or  tranquil  ; — or  of  the  sentiment  that  pervades  the 


TIME.  179 

language, — whether  it  be  elevated,  impulsive,  glow- 
ing, or  deep,  solemn,  and  enduring.  For,  different 
sentiments  and  passions,  as  they  use  different  pitch, 
also  speak  in  different  time :  the  utterance  of  grief 
is  slow  and  heavy  ;  while  that  of  hope  and  joy  is 
light,  bounding,  and  rapid.  Again,  the  rush  of  an 
impetuous  torrent,  roaring  and  bursting  over  the 
plains,  destroying  vegetation,  tearing  up  trees,  carry- 
ing away  cottages,  in  its  resistless  course,  must  be 
painted^  as  it  were,  to  the  ear,  not  only  by  appropri- 
ate pitch  and  force,  but  by  a  rapidity  of  utterance 
whose  time  shall  be  in  keeping  with  the  sweeping 
destruction  described  :  Avhile  the  placid  flow  of  a  gen- 
tle river,  calmly  gliding  between  its  flower-spangled 
banks,  amid  a  landscape  of  richest  verdure,  whose  un- 
broken silence,  and  golden  smile,  caught  from  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun,  breathe  the  quiet  happiness 
of  content  and  peace, — this  requires  to  be  painted  by 
a  sloio  and  even  movement  of  the  voice, — whose  time 
shall  accord  Avith  the  tranquillity  of  the  scene,  and 
allow  the  hearer  to  dwell  on  the  placid  picture  before 
him. 

As  an  illustration,  continuing  the  speech  of  Brutus,  which  we 
have  already  commenced  as  an  Exercise  on  Intonation,  we  pro- 
ceed thus : 

As  Caesar  loved  me,"^-  I  weep  for  him  -^  as  he  was  fortunate,*^ 
I  rejoice  at  it ;  as  he  was  valiant,*^  I  honor  him ;  but,'^  as  he 
was  ambitious,'^  I  slew  him.     There  is'^    tears  for  his  love ; 


180  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

joy  for  Ills  fortune ;  honor  for  his  valor,'^-  and  death*'  for  his 
ambition. 

Such  is  the  correct  pausing,  and  such  the  just,  and  even  for- 
cible injlection  and  emphasis  on  this  passage.  But  it  wants 
much  more,  before  it  can  be  perfectly  delivered  :  it  wants  ex- 
pression :  for  it  is  clear  that  "  weepi7ig,^^  "  rejoicitig"  and 
"  slaying,^''  result  from  very  different  and  opposite  affections 
or  passions  of  the  mind ;  and  this  change  in  sentiment  must 
be  indicated  by  a  correspondent  transition  in  the  pitch,  and 
variation  in  force  and  time  of  delivery. 

To  denote  the  varieties  and  changes  of  these  three  constitu- 
ents of  Expression,  I  must  employ  the  following  signs  and 
terms : 

FOR    PITCH, — 
TERM.  SIGN. 

Middle  Pitch jJW  or  m, 

Low  Pitch as  or  6, 

High  Pitch SI  or  a. 

FOR    FORCE, 

It  will  be  necessary  to  use  terms  denoting  the  following 


EXPRESSION. MUSICAL   TERMS. 


181 


DYNAMICS,  OR  POWERS  OF  SOUND. 


Term. 

Sign 

piano 

P- 

pianissimo 

pp. 

forte 

/• 

Explanation, 
softly 


verry  softly. 
loud 


mezzo  forte  7??/.  rather  loud, 
fortissimo  ff.very  loud.  .  . 
crescendo  -=r;'increasing. . 
diminuendo  r=>  diminishing, 
forzando  Jz.  bursting . .  .  . 
staccato       '  '  '  beating 


legato  leg. 

(the  reverse  of 
staccato.) 


connected  or 
smoothly. . . 


I  How,  or  for  what  to  be  used. 

iWith  a  soft  tone,  expressive  of 

!     calmness,  gentleness,  mildness, 

i     &c. 

increased  expression  of  tender- 
ness, &c. 

the  reverse  of  the  above  ;  a  loud 
powerful  tone. 

increased  expression. 

swelling  the  volume  of  voice. 

reducing  the  volume. 

explosive,  with  a  burst  of  sound. 

with  .short  and  distinct  strokes  of 
sound ;  to  be  used  in  rapid  and 
energetic  delivery. 

a  smooth,  even  flow  of  tone,  pro- 
per for  the  delivery  of  unim- 
passioned  verse. 


The  following  terms  denote  the  character  of  the  expression 
proper  to  any  passage : 

affetuoso  {affo.). . .  .with  emotion:  expressive  of  deep  feeling. 

dolce  (dol.) sweetly :  expressive  of  tenderness,  affection. 

pity,  &c. 

maestoso with  a  grand,  maje.^tic  expression,  proper 

to  solemn  feeling. 

con spirito  (cari  s/).)- with  spirit;  for  lively  expression. 

con  fuoco  [con  fu.).\\\\hfire;  in  an  animated,  energetic  manner. 

con anima (con an.). with  soid ;  that  is,  with  a  thrilling  expres- 
sion of  intense  feeling. 


182  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

TIME. 

The  following  terms  denote  the  time,  or  degree  of  rapidity  or 
slowness  of  movement,  to  be  adopted : 

adagio very  slow — for  solemn  delivery. 

allegro  (alio.) quick — for  brisk,  lively  delivery. 

presto still  quicker. 

andante middle  time,  and  distinct. 

largo slowly,  with  fullness  of  tone. 

moderato in  ordinaiy  or  middle  time. 

retard slackening  the  time. 

accelerando quickening  the  time. 


Using  these  terras  and  abbreviations,  the  same  passage  will 
be  thus  marked  for  expression,  in  addition  to  the  previous  marks 
ot  pause,  &c. 

Largo  p.  p.  afo.  alio,  m,  f. 

1^  As  CjBsar  loved  me.'^-  I  weep  for  him  ;  as  he  was  fortu- 
nate,~  I  rejoice  at  it;  as  he  was  valiant,'^  I  honor  hifh ;  but"'  as 

ff,  {|  largo  p.  affo. 

he  was  ambitious,*'-  I  slew  him.    There  is''-  tears  for  his  love," 
m.f.  <:;  ^^  j,jr  <=. 

joy  for  his  fortune  •^-  honor  for  his  valor,*'  and  death"  for  his 

ambitjon. 

Ill  narration,  what  force,  M'hat  reality  can  be 
given  to  description  by  a  speaker  who,  as  it  were, 
throws  himself  into  the  scene,  and  by  the  vivacity 
and  energy  of  his  delivery  brings  the  action  graphi- 
cally before  yonr  eyes,  hnrries  yon  into  the  lieat  of 
it,  and  makes  yon  feel  as  if  personally  engaged  in 
what  is  so  stirringly  related  to  yon. 


ENERGY. EXERCISE.  183 

As  in  that  beautiful  description,  in  Shakspeare's  Henry  IV., 
of  the  gallant  Prince  Henry  and  his  comrades  armed  for  battle : 

Andante,  con  spirilo, 

JJl  All  furnish'd,  all  in  arms, 

Glitt'ring  in  golden  coats  like  images  ; 
As  full  of  spirit  as  the  month  of  May, 
And  gorgeous  as  the  sun  at  midsummer ; 

Alto. 

Wanton  as  youthful  goats,  wild  as  young  bulls. 
I  saw  young  Harry, — with  his  beaver  on, 
His  cuisses  on  his  thighs,  gallantly  arm'd, — 
^  Rise  from  the  ground  like  feathered  Mercury, 
And  vaulted  with  such  ease  into  his  seat, 

dolco. 

As  if  an  angel  dropp'd  down  from  the  clouds, 
f. 
£&,  To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pegasus, 

And  witch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship  ! 

Unless  this  description,  full  of  poetic  imagination  and  color- 
ing as  it  is,  be  delivered  with  warmth,  energy,  and  the  pitch  or 
tone  of  enthusiasm,  it  will  fall  very  short  of  its  due  impression ; 
and  thus  the  poet  Avill  be  deprived,  by  the  speaker's  coldness, 
of  the  full  appreciation,  by  the  hearer,  of  the  exquisite  beauty 
of  the  picture.  The  reader  must  catch  the  spirit  of  the  lan- 
guage, in  order  to  be  a  fit  interpreter  of  the  poet's  conception ; 
as  he  proceeds,  he  must  warm  and  kindle  with  the  glowing 
coloring  of  the  picture,  till  the  finishing  touch  is  given  to  it,  in 
the  closing,  crowning  line. 

But  tlie  fojxe  of  his  elocution  must  be  greatly  increased,  and 
the  expression  must  become  impassioned,  and  rise  almost  to 
fierceness,  to  produce  the  full  effect  of  Holspirr''s  heroic  and  in- 
spiring answer :  Avhich  breathes  the  highest  enthusiasm  of 
confident  and  daring  valor,  undaunted  resolution,  and  impatient 
thirst  of  glory. 


184  akt  of  elogutio:^. 

hotspur's  eagerness  for  battle. 

allOt  con  fu^co. 

^  Let  them  come  ! 

33  They  come  like  sacrifices  in  their  trim, 

St  And  to  the  fire-eyed  maid  of  smoky  war, 

SOS. 

All  hotj  and  bleeding,  will  we  offer  them  1 
The  mailed  Mars  shall  on  his  altar  sit 

6  Up  to  the  ears  in  blood.     I  am  on  fire, 

vre^to. 

To  hear  tliis  rich  reprisal  is  so  nigh. 
And  yet  not  ours  !     Come,  let  me  take  my  horse. 
Which  is  to  bear  me  hke  a  thunderbolt 
Against  the  bosom  of  the  Prince  of  Wales : 

strucato.  f.  f  »  t 

Harry  to  Harry  shall,  hot  horse  to  horse, 

retard.     Jj   ^. 

Meet,"^-  and  ne'er  part'  till  one  drop  dowii  a  corse  I 

Thus  we  see  that  Pitch,  Force,  and  Time  constitute 
expression :  united,  with  just  discrimination  and  in  per- 
fect keeping,  they  reach  the  chmax  of  the  power  of 
Elocution,  the  acme  of  its  art, — Passion. 

The  mimicry  of  Passion,  by  the  simultaneous  ex- 
pression of  voice,  gesture,  face,  and  attitude,  is  the 
Actoi'^s  study.  It  is  not  my  design  to  form  a  theatri- 
cal style  ;  but  it  is  desirable  that  the  student  should 
make  himself  master  of  certain  tones  and  variations 
of  expression,  a  judicious  use  of  which  will  add  much 
to  the  beauty  and  power  of  his  declamation,  and  is,  in 
fact,  absolutely  necessary  to  be  attained  before  he  can 
aspire  to  the  high  character  of  a  perfect  Orator. 

With  a  view  to  assist  him  in  this  object,  I  have 
prepared  the  Practice  which  follows. 


PRACTICE. INTONATION.  185 

PRACTICE 

ON 

THE  THIRD  DIYLSION. 


EXERCISE  ON  INTONATION. 

PROSPERO'S  INVOCATION.— Shaks. 

Begin  in  a  deep  tone,  and  gather  force  and  volume 
in  progressing. 

3S  Ye  Elves  of  hills,  brooks,  stamling  lakes,  and  groves ; 
And  ye  that  on  the  sands  with  printless  footj 
Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  do  fly  him 
When  he  comes  back  ;  you  demi-puppets,  that 
By  moonshine  do  the  green,  sour  ringlets  make, 
Whereof  the  ewe  not  bites  ;  and  you  whose  pastime 
Is  to  make  midnight  mushrooms  ;  that  rejoice 
To  hear  the  solemn  curfew :  by  whose  aid, 
(Weak  masters  though  ye  be.)  I  have  bedimm'd 
The  noon-tide  sun, — call'd  forth  the  mutmous  winds, 
And  'twixt  the  green  sea  and  the  azure  vault 

ff.  staccato.  /.  f  I  f 

Set  roaring  war;  to  the  dread  rattUng  thunder 
Have  I  given  fire,  and  rifted  Jove's  stout  oak 
With  his  own  bolt :  the  strong-bas'd  promontory 
Have  I  made  shake,  and  by  tlie  spurs 


186  ART     OF    ELOCUTION. 

Pluck'd  up  the  pine  and  cedar :  graves  at  my  command 
Have  wak'd  their  sleepers  ;  op^  an3  let  them  forth'^ 
By  ray  so  potent  art. 

Transition  to  middle  pitch  and  a  softer  tone  : 

^  But  this  rough  magic 

I  here  abjure ;  and  when  I  have  requir'd 
Some  heavenly  music,  (which  even  now  I  do,) 
To  work  mine  end  upon  their  senses,  that 
This  airy  charm  is  for,**-  I'll  break  my  staflF, 
Bury  it  certain  fathoms  in  the  earth, 
3$  And  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound, 
I'll  drown  my  book. 

THE  DEATH  OF  SAMSON.— Milton, 

This  being  narrative,  does  not  admit  of  so  solemn 
a  tone  as  the  preceding  : 

A'ldan  le — mo  drra  to . 

£fSL  The  building  was  a  spacious  theatre. 

Half-round,  on  two  main  pillars  vaulted  high, 

Witli  seats  where  all  the  lords,  and  each  degree 

Of  sort,  might  sit  in  order  to  behold. 

The  other  side  was  open,  where  the  throng 

On  banks  and  scaffolds  under  sky  might  stand. 

The  feast  and  noise  grew  high ;  and  sacrifice 

Had  fill'd  their  hearts  with  mirth,  high  cheer,  and  wine, 


PRACTICE. INTONATION.  1.87 

When  to  their  sports  they  turn'd.     Immediately 
Was  Samson  as  a  public  servant  brought, 
In  their  state  livery  clad  :  before  him  pipes 
'  And  timbrels,  on  each  side  went  armed  guards, 
Both  horse  and  foot ;  before  him  and  behind. 
Archers  and  slingers,  cataphracts  and  spears. 


At  sight  of  him,  the  people  with  a  shout 

Rifled  the  air,  clamoring  their  God  with  praise, 

,  mio  had  made  tlieir  dreadful  enemy  their  thrall. 

He  patient,  but  undaunted,  where  tliey  led  him, 

Came  to  the  place  ;  and  what  was  set  before  him, 

Which  without  help  of  eye  might  be  assay'd, 

To  heave,  pull,  draw,  or  break,  he  still  perform'd, 

All  with  incredible,  stupendous  force  ; 

None  daring  to  appear  antagonist. 

At  length,  for  intermission's  sake,  they  led  him 

Between  the  pillars  ;  he  his  guide  requested. 

As  over-tir'd,  to  let  him  lean  awhile 

With  both  his  arms  on  those  two  massy  pillars, 

That  to  the  arched  roof  gave  main  support. 

He,  unsuspicious,  led  him  ;  which,  when  Samson 

p- 
Felt  in  his  arras,  with  head  awhile  inclin'd. 

And  eyes  fast-fix'd,  he  stood,  as  one  who  pray'd, 

Or  some  great  matter  in  his  mind  revolv'd  :  | 

presto.  f.  .111 

At  last,  with  head  erect,  thus  cried  aloud  : 

mod.  . 

"  Hitherto,  lords,  what  your  commands  mipos' 


188  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

I  have  perform'd,  as  reason  was,  obeying, 

Not  without  wonder  or  delight  beheld : 

Now,  of  my  own  accord,  such  other  trial 

I  mean  to  show  you  of  my  strength,  yet  greater, 

As  with  amaze  shall  strike  all  who  behold." 

•mod, 

-    This  utter'd,  straining  all  his  nerves,  he  bow'd : 
3$  As  with  the  force  of  winds  and  waters  pent. 

When  mountains  tremble,  those  two  massy  pillars 

With  horrible  convulsion  to  and  fro 


He  tugg'd,  he  shook,  till  down  they  came,*^-  and  drew 

-==■  ff- 

The  whole  roof  after  them  with  burst  of  thunder, 

Upon  the  heads  of  all  who  sat  beneath ; 

Lords,  ladie.s,  captains,  counsellors,  or  priests, 

Their  choice  nobility  and  flower, 

Met  from  all  parts,  to  solemnise  this  feast.  | 

v^acatoao. 

Samson  with  these  immix'd,  inevitably 
Pull'd  down  the  same  destruction  on  himself  I 


2.  EXERCISE  ON  RHYTHMICAL  READING. 

The  object  of  the  following  exercise  is  practically  to  school 
the  ear  of  the  pupil  to  a  just  rhythmical  pulsation  of  voice 
in  the  reading  of  verse :  for  tliat  purpose,  the  accents  are 
marked  as  a  guide  to  the  \>n\n\  for  'pulsation  and  remission  of 
voice;  he  must  also  fill  up  the  rhythm  with  proper  rests. 


PRACTICE. RHYTHMICAL    READING.  189 

BOADICEA— CowpER. 

When  the  British  warrior-queen, 

■  /  '  > 

Bleeding  from  the  Roman  rods, 

/  /  '. 

Sought,  with  an  indignant  mien, 

/  'I 

Counsel  of  her  country's  gods,  ^ 

Sage,  beneath  a  spreading  oak, 

Sat  the  Druid,  hoary  chief, 
/  /  /  ' 

Ev'ry  burning  word  he  spoke, 

Full  of  rage,  and  full  ot  grief. 

"  Princess,  it  our  aged  eyes 

Weep  upon  thy  matchless  wrongs, 
'Tis  because  resentment  ties 

All  the  terrors  of  our  tongues. 

"  Rome  shall  perish !  write  that  word 
/  /  / 

In  the  blood  that  she  has  spilt ; 

Perish,  hopeless  and  abhorred. 

Deep  111  rum.  as  in  guilt ! 

"  Rome,  for  empire  far  renown'd, 

/  /  / 

Tramples  on  a  thousand  states  ; 

III' 
Soon  her  pride  shall  kiss  the  ground — 
/  /  / 

Hark  .  the  Gaul  is  at  her  gates ! 

II  ' 

"  Other  Romans  shall  arise, 


190  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

/  I  ' 

Heedless  of  a  soldier's  name  j 

/  /  It 

Sounds,  not  arms,  shall  win  the  prize, 

/  /  / 

Harmony  the  path  to  fame  ! 

"  Then,  the  progeny  that  sprmgs 
From  the  forests  of  our  land, 

Arm'd  with  thunder,  clad  with  wmgs, 
Shall  a  wider  world  command. 

"  Regions  Csesar  never  knew, 

Thy  posterity  shall  sway  ; 
II  II 

Where  his  eagles  never  flew 

None  invincible  as  they  !" 

/  /  '  .       '  , 

Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words, 

Pregnant  with  celestial  fire, 
/  /  / 

Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords 
/  II 

Of  his  sweet,  but  awful  lyre. 


Ill  ' 

She  with  all  a  monarch's  pride, 

Felt  them  in  her  bosom  glow ; 

/  /  /  / 

Rush'd  to  battle,  fought,  and  died, — 
II  I 

Dying,  hurled  them  on  the  foe  ! 

"  Ruffians  !  pitiless  as  proud, 

/  /  /  / 

Heav'n  awards  the  vengeance  due 

Empire  is  on  us  bestowed, 

/  II  I 

Shame  and  ruin  wait  for  you !" 


PRACTICE. RHYTHMICAL    READING.  191 

TO  THE  EAGLE.— Percival. 

Bird  of  the  broad  and  sweeping  wing, 

/  /  / 

Thy  home  is  high  in  heav'n, 

Where  wide  the  storms  their  banners  fling, 
f  I  / 

And  the  tempest  clouds  are  driv'n. 

Thy  throne  is  on  the  mountain  top ; 
/  /  / 

Thy  fields,  the  boundless  air ; 
r  I  If 

And  hoary  peaks  that  proudly  prop 
/  II 

The  skies,  thy  dwellings  are. 

/  II 

Thou  sittest  like  a  thing  of  light 
/  /  / 

Amid  the  noon-tide  blaze : 
/  II  I 

The  midway  sun  is  clear  and  bright ; 
II  I 

It  cannot  dim  thy  gaze. 

/  II 

Thy  pinions  to  the  rushing  blast, 
/  /  / 

O'er  the  bursting  billow  spread, 
/  /  /  / 

Where  the  vessel  plunges,  hurry  past, 

Like  an  angel  of  the  dead. 

/  I  I 

Thou  art  perch'd  aloft  on  the  beetling  crag, 
/  II 

And  the  waves  are  white  below. 

And  on,  with  a  haste  that  cannot  lag, 
/  /  / 

They  rush  in  an  endless  flow 
/  /  /  / 

Again  thou  hast  plumed  thy  wing  for  flight, 
/  /  / 

To  lands  beyond  the  sea ; 


I 


192  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 


/  I  I  > 

And  away,  like  a  spirit,  wreathed  in  light, 
/  /  / 

Thou  hurriest  wild  and  free. 


Thou  hurriest  over  the  myriad  waves, 
/  II 

And  thou  leavest  them  all  behind. 

/  II  I 

Thou  sweepest  that  place  of  unknown  graves, 

/  /  /   , 

Fleet  as  the  tempest  wmd. 

/  III 

When  the  night  storm  gathers  dim  and  dark, 
/  /  / 

With  a  shrill  and  boding  scream, 
III  I 

Thou  rushest  by  the  foundering  bark, 

/  /    .  / 

duick  as  a  passmg  dream. 

Lord  of  the  boundless  realm  of  air, 

/    .       I  .  ^    I 
In  thy  imperial  name, 

/  III 

The  hearts  of  the  bold  and  ardent  dare 
/  /  / 

The  dangerous  path  of  fame. 

/  /  II 

Beneath  the  shade  of  thy  golden  wings, 

/  /  / 

The  Roman  legions  bore 

/  /  II 

From  the  river  of  Egypt's  cloudy  sprmgs, 
/  II 

Their  pride,  to  the  polar  shore. 

/  /  II 

For  thee  they  fought,  for  thee  they  fell, 

II'. 
And  their  oath  was  on  thee  laid ; 

To  thee  the  clarions  raised  their  swell, 
II  I 

And  the  dying  warrior  prayed. 
/  /  /  / 

Thou  wert  thro'  an  age  of  death  and  fears. 

The  image  of  pride  and  power ; 


PRACTICE. RHYTHMICAL    READING .  193 

II  II 

Till  the  gathered  rage  of  a  thousand  years 
Burst  forth  in  one  awful  hour. 

/  II  I 

And  then  a  deluge  of  wrath  it  came, 

/  1,1 

And  the  nations  shook  with  dread ; 

/  /  /  / 

And  it  swept  the  earth  till  its  fields  were  flame 
/  II 

And  piled  with  the  mingled  dead. 

Kings  were  rolled  in  the  wasteful  flood, 
/  /  / 

With  the  low  and  crouching  slave. 

And  together  lay,  in  a  shroud  of  blood, 
/  / 

The  coward  and  the  brave. 

/  /  /  / 

And  where  was  then  thy  fearless  flight  1 
III 
"  O'er  the  dark  mysterious  sea  ; 

To  the  lands  that  caught  the  setting  light — 
/  / 

The  cradle  of  Liberty  ! 
/  III 

There  on  the  silent  and  lonely  shore, 
/  /  / 

For  ages  I  watch'd  alone  ; 
II  III 

And  the  world  in  its  darkness  asked  no  more 
II  I 

Where  the  glorious  bird  had  flown. 

/  III 

"  But  then  came  a  bold  and  hardy  few, 
/  /  / 

And  they  breasted  the  unknown  wave ; 
III  I 

I  caught  afar  the  wandering  crew, 

/  II 

And  I  knew  they  were  high  and  brave. 
/  /  /  / 

I  wheel'd  around  the  welcome  bark, 
/  II 

As  it  sought  the  desolate  shore. 


194  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

And  up  to  heav'n,  like  a  joyous  lark, 
My  quivering  pinions  bore. 

/  '  '  r! 

"  And  now  that  bold  and  hardy  few 

Are  a  nation  wide  and  strong ; 

And  danger  and  doubt  I  have  led  them  through, 

And  they  worship  me  m  song ; 
/  /  If 

And  over  their  bright  and  glancing  arms, 

/  /  / 

On  field,  and  lake,  and  sea, 

/  /  /  / 

With  an  eye  that  fires,  and  a  spell  that  charms, 

I  guide  them  to  victory !" 


SPRING.— N.  P.  Willis. 

/  /  II  I 

The  spring  is  here,  the  delicate-footed  May, 
I         I  I  I  I 

With  its  slight  fingers  full  of  leaves  and  flowers ; 
/  /  /  / 

And  with  it  comes  a  thirst  to  be  away, 

II  II 

Wasting  in  wood-paths  its  voluptuous  hours  ; 

A  feeling  that  is  like  a  sense  of  wings, 

/  II  II 

Restless  to  soar  above  these  perishing  things. 

/  I         I      _         I 

We  pass  out  from  the  city's  feverish  hum, 
II  II 

To  find  refreshment  in  the  silent  woods  j 
/  /  / 

And  nature,  that  is  beautiful  and  dumb, 
II  II 

Like  a  cool  sleep  upon  the  pulses  broods ; 

Yet,  even  there,  a  restless  thought  will  steal, 

/  /  /  / 

To  teach  the  indolent  heart  it  still  must  feel. 


PEACTICE. — RHYTHMICAL    READING.  195 

Strange  that  the  audible  stillness  of  the  noon, 
/  /  /  / 

The  waters  tripping  with  their  silver  feet, 
/  /  /  / 

The  turning  to  the  light  of  leaves  in  June. 

And  the  light  wliisper  as  their  edges  meet, — 

/  /  /  / 

Strange  that  they  fill  not  with  their  tranquil  tone, 

I  r  II 
The  spirit  walking  in  their  midst,  alone  ! 

I         /  II 

There  is  no  contentment  in  a  world  like  this. 

Save  in  forgetting  the  immortal  dream ; 

II  II 
We  may  not  gaze  upon  the  stars  of  bliss, 

/  /  /  / 

That  through  the  cloud- rifts  radiantly  stream; 
/  /  /        /  / 

Bird-like,  the  prison'd  soul  xcUl  lift  its  ej^e, 

And  pine,  till  it  is  hooded  from  the  sky ! 

THE  CLIME  OF  THE  EAST.— Byron. 

II  II 

Know  ye  the  land  where  the  cypress  and  myrtle 

Are  emblems  of  deeds  that  are  done  in  their  clime, 
/  /  /  / 

Where  the  rage  of  the  vulture,  the  love  of  the  turtle 

Now  melt  into  sorrow,  now  madden  to  crime  ? 
/  /  II 

Know  ye  the  land  of  the  cedar  and  vine 

Where  the  flowers  ever  blossom,  the  leaves  ever  shine ; 

Where  the  light  wings  of  zephyr,  oppress'd  with  perfume, 

/  /  /  / 

Wax  faint  o'er  the  gardens  of  Gul*  in  her  bloom ; 

Where  the  citron  and  olive  are  fairest  of  fruit, 
*  Gul,  the  Rose. 


196  ART   OF  ELOCTTTION. 

It  II 

And  the  voice  of  the  nightingale  never  is  mute ; 

/  /  If 

Where  the  tints  of  the  earth  and  the  hues  of  the  sky, 

In  color  though  varied,  in  beauty  may  vie, 
/  /  1,1 

And  the  purple  of  Ocean  is  deepest  in  dye  ; 

II''. 
Where  the  virgins  are  soft  as  the  roses  they  twme, 

/  /  / 

And  all,  save  the  spirit  of  man,  is  divine  ? 

/  /  /  / 

'Tis  the  clime  of  the  East, — 'tis  the  land  of  the  sun ! 

Ill/ 
Can  he  smile  on  such  deeds  as  his  children  have  done  ? 

Ill  I., 

Oh  !  wild  as  the  accents  of  lovers'  farewell. 

Are  the  hearts  which  they  bear,  and  the  tales  which  they  tell. 

The  exercise  in  Intonation  serves  also  for  an  exercise  in 
Blank  Verse  ;  and  the  next  Exercise  contains  some  other  va- 
rieties of  metrical  arrangement. 


3.  EXERCISE  IN  EXPRESSION. 

I  have  chosen  the  following  well-known  and  beautiful  ode, 
as  the  vehicle  of  instruction,  and  as  a  particular  Exercise  in 
Expression,  although  quite  familiar  to  the  reader,  as  a  compo- 
sition,— because  it  affords  great  scope  for  transition  of  pitch,  vari- 
ation of  force,  and  cliangc  of  time,  in  accordance  with  the  varied 
action  and  quality  of  the  personification  of  each  individual 
passion.  It  is  in  these  transitions  and  variations  that  the  main 
beauty  of  the  ode  lies ;  and  on  the  marking  of  them  distinctly, 
depends  the  effect  in  delivery. 

The  ode  is  also  a  good  practice  in  rhythmical  reading,  from 
the  variety  as  well  as  polish  of  the  versification. 


PRACTICE. EXPRESSION.  197 

The  pupil  will  carefully  note  the  short  analysis  of  the  ex- 
pression of  each  passion,  and  the  marginal  directions  as  to  tone 
and  time  due  to  each  particular  passage. 

THE  PASSIONS— AN  ODE.— Collins. 

INTRODUCTION,    OR   PRELUDE. 

DIRECTIONS,    r  When  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  vounff 

Begin  calmly,  J  T  J  & 

fn™"  moJeme'^  I  ^""^  ^^^  ^"  ^^^'^  Greece  she  sung, 
die  pit^.  ™'       The  Passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell, 
I  Throng'd  around  her  magic  cell ; 

The  tone  and  r  /•      3  p.     VX  jr.  ^  -=c  pp.  r=^  '^ 

time  must  here     Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting, 
fT../.  at 
Possess'd  beyond  the  Muse  s  painting, 

By  turns  they  felt  the  glowing  mind, 


change,  and  be 
%'aried  to  ex- 
press the  diffe- 
rent emotions 
described. 


Disturb'd,  delighted,  raised,  refined ; 


Till  once,  'tis  said,  when  all  were  fir'd, 
Fill'd  with  fury,  rapt,  inspir'd. 

This  must  be  -  prusto. 

rapiii,   to   ex-  [  From  the  supporting  myrtles  round, 

press  the  sud-J  rx-  &       j  3 

action^'  °^  ^^  I  They  snatch  her  instruments  of  sound, 

r- 
In   ordinary  f  And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart, 
time.  <^  rf^,„. 

t  Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art, 

wildly  fz.  a 

Each, — for  madness  rul'd  the  hour — 

lit  TWl. 

Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

I.  Fear. 

Fear  deprives  the  voice  of  its  power ;  the  tone  be- 
comes thin  and  feeble,  and  the  utterance  (when  the 


193  ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 

passion  is  highly-wrought)  tremulous,  indistinct,  and 
broken. 

fU   p. 

Slowly,  &  with  r  First  Fear,"  hi.s  hand,"  its  skill  to  try, 
hesitation.       ,  -i 

[_     Amid  the  chords'^  bewilder'd  laid  ; 

prato.  /z.  P-  retard. 

And  back  recoil'd, — he  knew  not  why, — 
E'en  at  the  sound  himself  had  made  ! 

2.  Anger. 

Anger  is  high  in  pt7c/i,  loud,  and  quick  in  the  time 
of  its  utterance ;  and  the  words  do  not  flow,  but 
burst  out  in  sudden  starts,  indicative  of  the  rashness 
of  passion. 

This  is  distinct  from  the  expression  of  dignified 
anger,  just  severity,  and  reproof,  which  is  solemn  and 
measured  in  its  delivery,  and  low  in  pitch. 


C  wl  alio,  con  fuoco,      }. 

Loudly  &  hur- 
riedly, with  im- 
petiiou:^  bursts 
of  sound. 


n^    alio,  run    fuucLf.         j.  

Next  Anger  rush'd,'-  his  eyes  on  fare,'' 
In  lightnings  own'd  his  secret  stings ; 

f/r.  ttaccalo  I  I 

n  one  rude  clash"'  he  struck  the  lyre, 

fz,  prrc'.o. 

And  swept  with  hurried  hand  the  strings. 

3.  Despair. 

Despair  vents  itself  in  a  low,  moaning  tone  ;  till  it 
reaches  its  wildest  paroxysm,  when  it  is  cracked  and 
shrieking.  Both  shades  of  expression  are  beautifully 
and  distinctly  individualized  by  the  poet  in  the  des- 
criptive verses. 


PRACTICE. EXPRESSION. 


199 


In  a 
len  tone 


.13 


f  la-rgo  e  maestoso,  JUJ 

ne  •^'mo      With  woful  measures'^  wan  Despair — 
deep  pitch,      i      Low  sullen  sounds,  his  grief  beguil'd ; 

[  A  solemn,  strange,  and  mingled  air. 
Contrast 'Twas  sad  by  fits,  by  starts  'twas  wild  ! 


4.  Hope. 

The  expression  of  Hope  is  in  direct  contrast  with 
that  of  Despair ;  Hvely,  animated,  joyous  ;  in  rather 
a  high  pitch  of  voice,  but  at  the  same  time  sweet  and 
flowing. 

M-  alio,  eon  spiri;o, 

Mark  the  trans-  f  But  thou,  O  Hope,  with  eyes  so  fair, 

ition    from  the  j  sr    .  j  j 

s"n  bfchange  What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ? 

of  tone  &  time  ; 

and  as  the  feel-  Still  it  whisper'd  promis'd  pleasure, 

ing  grows,   let 

in^ri  In!.';L^^I'!!!         And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail ! 
volume.  /fra.'o. 

Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong, 

And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale. 

She  call'd  on  Echo  still"  through  all  the  song; 

And  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 

dolce. 

A  soft  responsive  voice'^  was  heard  at  every 
close  ; 

con  aniTTVi. 

And  Hope  enchanted,  smil'd,'  and  wav'd  her 
golden  hair ! 

5.  Revenge. — 6.  Pity. 

The  features  of  Revenge  are  of  the  same  family  as 
Anger  ;  but  bolder,  stronger,  and  more  highly  colored. 


200 


ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 


The  tone  must  be  fiercer,  harsher,  and  more  concen- 
trated than  mere  Anger.  Revenge,  when  most  in- 
tense, speaks  between  the  set  teeth  ;  and  utters  its  de- 
nunciations in  a  hoarse,  guttiural  voice  ;  and  with  fit- 
ful bursts  of  passion. 

Pitt,  on  the  contrary,  speaks  in  a  low,  soft,  and 
gentle  tone  of  voice  ;  but  full  and  flowing,  as  from  the 
exuberance  of  a  warm  heart. 


The  transition 
from  the  calm 
joyousness  of 
Hope,  to  the 
fierce  excite- 
ment of  Re- 
veiige,  must  be 
marked  by  the 
assumption  of 
a  dtfjter  and  a 
/ou(&r  tone,and 
an  impetuous 
utterance. 


Mark    the 
change   to   the 
gentle  &  (erulcr 
tone  of  Pity. 


Return  to  the 
rapid  move- 
ment &,  fierce 
utterance  of 
Revenge. 


And  longer  had  she  sung — but,  with  a  frown, 

Revenge"^  impatient  rose ; 

alio.  f.  <=:c;  ff. 

He  threw  his  blood-stain'd  sword  in  thunder 

down, 
And,  with  a  withering  look. 
The  war -denouncing  trumpet  took; 
And  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  dread, 

iJ  retard,'  ma-estmo.  eostenuto. 

Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe, 

f^  presto.  staccato' '', 

And  ever  and  anon,  he  beat 

»  ? 

The  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat ; 

jj  Trtartl.  largo  maestoso.  -c:::^ 

And  though  sometimes,*^-  each  dreary  pause 
between,'^- 
Dejected  Pity,  at  his  side, 

a^o.  legato,  do  I. 

Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied, 

SL  pre/to.  r. 

Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild  unaltcr'd  mien, 

ntnr^clo.  ff.      \  f  »  f 

While   each  strained  ball   of  sighf^  seem'd 
bursting  from  his  head  ! 


PRACTICE . EXPRESSION. 


201 


7.  Jealousy. 

Jealousy  has  a  changeful  tone,  varying  as  it  yields 
to  love  or  hate ;  sometimes  indulging  in  the  tender- 
ness of  affection,  at  others  venting  itself  in  all  the 
harshness  and  bitterness  of  revenge.  The  poet  has 
well  distinguished  these  two  different  phases  of  the 
passion. 


tone,  &  slowly 
changing,    ac- 
cording to  tlie 
alternation    of 
feeling  descri-<[ 
bed. 


^t  largo  p. 

as 


r  3,^i*  largo  p.  presto,  771.  /. 

Begin  in  a  low     Thy  numbers,"'  Jealousy,"*'  to  nought  were  fix'd. 


Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state''- 

presto,  m.  f. 

Of  differing  themes,"'  the  veering  song  was  mix'd, 

i®   p.  rttard  affo.  dolre.  f.     3  .=:;;;:::>-  /. 

And  now  it  courted  Love,*'-  now  raving**  called 
on  Hate ! 


8.  Melancholy. 

The  voice  of  Melancholy  is  low  in  tone^  soft,  mel- 
low, and  slow  in  utterance. 


33    lo.rgo  p. 

Witfi  eyes  up-rais'd.  as  one  inspir'd, 


Mark  the  gen- 
tleness of  the 
passion  by  a 
smooth,    flow- 

atfdram'er  deep  <|  And  from  her  wild,  sequester'd  seat 


Pale  Melancholy''  sat  retir'd"'- 


tone. 


A  lighter  tone 
&  movement. 


m 

In  notes  by  distance  made  more  sweet, 

Pour^  through  the  mellow  horn"  her  pensive  soul: 

^  aUo,  dntce,  m.  f. 

And  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around, 
Bubbling  rurmels  join'd  the  sound; 


202  ART   OF    ELOCUTION 

X>  maestoso. 


Change  back 
to  deep  tone, 
and  slow,  flow- 
ing utterance. 


Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure 

stole, 
Or  o'er  some  haunted  stream  with  fond  delay  *'- 
Round"^  a  holy  calm  diffusing, 
Love  of  peace  and  lowly  musing, 
^  In  hollow  murmurs'^  died  away. 

9.  Cheerfulness. 

Cheerfulness — which  is  the  direct  contrast  of  the 
last  passion — speaks  in  a  high  pitch,  briskly  and 
"  trippingly  on  the  tongue."  The  expression  is  of  the 
same  order,  but  less  active  or  passionate  than 

10.  Joy; 

whose  tone  is  richer  and  fuller,  and  utterance  still 
more  lively  and  animated.  Under  the  influence  of 
joy,  the  Avords  bound  and  gush  from  the  lips,  and  the 
delivery  becomes  excited  and  enthusiastic. 

The  distinction  between  these  two  affections  of  the 
mind,  is,  that  Cheerfulness  is  a  state  or  enduring 
condition  of  the  mind,  and  therefore  has  a  certain  re- 
pose of  expression  ;  while  Joy  is  an  active  emotion 
or  passion,  temporarily  exciting  and  agitating  the 
mind,  and  accordingly  its  expression  is  of  a  higher 
character,  and  must  be  more  powerfully  delineated. 

Joy  usually  subsides  into  the  happy  tranquillity  of 
cheerfulness  ;  unless  it  be  dashed  by  grief  in  which 
case  it  sometimes  changes  into  the  darkest  despair. 


PRACTICE. — EXPRESSION. 


203 


In  the  present  instance,  the  passion  receives  addi- 
tional force  and  impulse  from  its  union  with 

11.  Love, — and  12.  Mirth  ; 

the  expression  proper  to  Avhich,  (forming,  as  does  the 
combination  of  Love,  Joy,  and  Mirth,  the  most  ex- 
quisite of  all  earthly  felicity, — that  is,  the  perfect  en- 
joyment oi  happy  love,)  must  be  of  the  most  animated, 
spiritual,  and  enthusiastic  kind  :  it  must  be  all  soul  ! 


Indicate  the 
transition  from 
Melancholy  to 
Cheerfulness, 
by  a  higher 
pitch  and  a 
brisker   utter- 


Express  the 
briskness  of  the 
action  of  Sport 
&  Exercise  by 
a  quicker  lime, 
and  a  stronger 
utterance. 

Heighten  the 
expression  of 
Cheerfulness 
to  a  fuller  and 
richer  tone.and 
even  more  live- 
ly and  entliusi- 


^  alio,  m,  f. 

But  oh !  how  altered  was  its  sprightlier  tone,*'- 
When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healtliiest  hue, 

Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flung. 
Her  buskins  gemm'd  with  morning  dew,"^ 
Blew  an  inspiring  air  that  dale  and  thicket 
rung  -J^- 
[_  The  hunter's  call,  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known. 
The  oak-crowned  sisters  and  their  chaste-eyed 

Q,ueen, 
Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys  were  seen, 
Peeping  from  forth  their  allies  green  ;"*- 
Brown  Exercise  rejoic'd  to  hear, 
And  Sport  leap'd  up'^  and  seiz'd  his  beechen 
spear.  | 

alio — con  anima — tlolce. 

Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial,*'- 
He,  with  viny  crown  advancing, 
First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  address'dj''- 


204 


ART    OF    ELOCUTION. 


astic  delivery, 
increasing,  as 
the  descriptive 
verses  glow,  & 
the  picture  Is 
heightened  in 
colouring  and 
effect  by  tJie 
introduction  of 
LoveXindJUirth, 
whose  appear- 
ance on  the  I 
scene  must  be"^ 
marlced  by  stiU 
greater  expres- 
sion of  tone. 


con  spirito  f. 

But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk,  awak'ning  viol, 
Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  lov'd  the  best. 

leE^ato, 

They  would  have  thought,  who  heard  the  strain, 
They  saw  in  Tempe's  vale  her  native  maids, 
Amidst  the  festal-sounding  shades, 

To  some  unwearied  mmstrel  dancing,*'- 

presto   f. 

While  as  his  flying  fingers  kiss'd  the  strings, 

dolce. 

Love  fram'd  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round  ;'^- 
Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  unbound,*^ 

con  fuoro. 

And  he,  amidst  his  frolic  play. 

As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay. 

Shook  thousand  odors'^  from  his  dewy  wings  ! 


Energetic  Expression. — Threatening. 

(.See  Anger,  Revenge.) 

HENRY  V.  BEFORE  THE   GATES  OF  HARFLEUR. 

Shaks. 

How  yet  resolves  the  Governor  of  tlie  town  ? — 
This  is  the  latest  parle  we  will  admit ; 
Therefore  to  our  best  mercy  give  yourselves. 
Or  like  to  men,  proud  of  destruction. 
Defy  us  to  the  worst !  for,  as  I  am  a  soldier, 
(A  name  that  in  my  thoughts  becomes  me  best,) 
If  I  begin  the  battery  once  again, 
I  will  not  leave  the  half-achiev'd  Harfleur 


PRACTICE. — ^EXPRESSION.  205 

Till  in  her  ashes  she  lie  buried ! 

The  gates  of  mercy  shall  be  all  shut  up  ; 

And  the  flush'd  soldier,  rough  and  hard  of  heart. 

In  liberty  of  bloody  hand  shall  range, 

Mowmg  like  grass 

Your  fre&h,  fair  virgins,  and  your  flow'ring  infants  ! 

Therefore,  ye  men  of  Harfleur, 

Take  pity  of  your  town,  and  of  your  people, 

Whiles  yet  my  soldiers  are  in  my  command  ! 

If  not,  why  in  a  moment  look  to  see 

The  blind  and  bloody  soldier  with  foul  hand 

Defile  the  locks  of  your  shrill-shrieking  daughters  : 

Your  fathers  taken  by  the  silver  beards, 

And  their  most  reverend  heads  dashed  to  the  walls  ! 

Your  naked  infants  spitted  upon  pikes  : 

Whiles  the  mad  mothers  with  their  howls  confused 

Do  break  the  clouds  ; — as  did  the  wives  of  Jewry 

At  Herod's  bloody-hunting  slaughtermen ! — 

How  say  you  ?  will  you  yield,  and  this  avoid  ? 


THE  DYING  GLADIATOR.— Byron. 

This  concluding  extract  from  Childe  Harold,  ajffords 
an  opportunity,  in  a  short  space,  for  great  variety  and 
quick  transition  of  tone,  in  accordance  with  the  change 
of  Expression  from  Pity  to  Indignation^  mounting 
to  Revenge.  The  pupil  will  find  the  key  to  the  cor- 
rect expression  of  these  changing  feelings  in  the  re- 
marks on  Collins's  Ode  to  the  Passions, — which  I  de- 
sign as  a  key  to  Expression  in  general. 

In  the  present  instance,  I  have  also  marked  the 
pauses  which  are  necessary  to  be  observed  ;  they  add 
much  to  the  eflfect  of  the  passage. 


206  ART     OF    ELOCUTION. 

Commence  in  a  deep  tone,  and  sloioly. 

iJ  aiicigio  p. 

I  see  before  me"^  the  Gladiator  lie  :    | 
He  leans  upon  his  hand,"^-  his  manly  brow 

Consents  to  death,"^  but  conquers  agony,*"- 

p- 
And  his  droop'd  head"'  sinks"  gradually'^  low,*^ 

And  through  his  side"  the  last  drops,"  ebbing  slow" 

From  the  red  gash,""-  fall  heavy"^  one  by  one,*'- 

Like  the  first  of  a  thunder  shower  ;  and  now"' 

The  arena  swmis  aroimd  him  ;"'-  he  is  gone.*^- 

^  ff. 

Ere  ceas'd  the  inhuman  shout"  which  hail'd  the  wretch 

who  won. 

andante 

He  heard  it.  but  he  heeded  not — his  eyes"* 

Were  with  his  heart,""  and  that  was  far  away  ;"* 

He  recPd  not  of  the  life  he  lost,  or  prize,"- 

p. 
But"  where  his  rude  hut  by  the  Danube  lay," 

There  were  his  young  barbarians'^  all  at  play,'^ 

There  was  their  Dacian  mother — he  their  sire"' 

ff.f: 

Butcher'd"  to  make  a  Roman  holiday  !    | 

Inrnto  p.  pritlo  f. 

All  this  rush'd  with  his  blood .     Shall  he  expire," 

And  unaveng'd  I"*    Arise !  ye  Goths !  and  glut  your  ire ! 


GESTUBE.  207 


GESTURE,  AND  YOCAL  GYMNASTICS. 

I  know  of  no  means  of  teaching  Gesture  by  ivritten 
instructions  ;  nor  do  I  think  that  much  assistance  can 
be  gathered  from  plates  oi  figures  representing  dif- 
ferent actions  and  attitudes.  Austin's  Chirononiia 
was  the  first  work  that  attempted  this,  and  the  book 
is  not  without  advantage  to  a  professor,  or  to  one  who 
has  made  some  progress,  by  practice  under  good  tui- 
tion, in  giving  force  to  an  oration  by  certain  well-regu- 
lated and  appropriate  gestures,  or  in  the  expression  of 
the  passions  by  the  action  of  the  face  and  the  attitude 
of  the  body.  Austin  has  been  followed  by  a  crowd 
of  copyists,  who  have  adopted  his  plates  and  figures, 
but  whose  instructions  appear  to  me  to  tend  rather  to 
give  the  pupil  a  stiff  and  constrained  style  of  gesti- 
culation, than  to  invest  him  with  that  easy  and  grace- 
ful action,  and  powerful  but  unexaggerated  attitude, 
which  alone  are  pleasing  and  effective  in  the  orator  or 
the  actor. 

The  first  point  to  be  aimed  at,  as  the  foundation  of 
a  good  style  of  gesture,  is  a  natural  and  easy  carriage 
of  the  body, — erect,  not  stiff, — but  firm,  manly,  and 
free.  This  is  a  thing,  unfortunately,  too  much  ne- 
glected in  education  generally :  the  drill-sergeant 
will  be  found  of  use  in  helping  us  to  this  ;  and  the 
dancing-master^ s  assistance  is  also  of  service.  Not 
that  we  are  to  aim  at  the  stiff  and  measured  profes- 
sional step  of  the  soldier,  or  the  mincing  gait  of  a 


208  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

maitre-de-danse  ;  we  must  avoid  the  extreme  of  each ; 
a  manly  and  graceful  carriage  lies  between  the  two. 

An  excellent  exercise  both  for  voice  and  health, — 
one  that  will  both  improve  the  strength  of  the  lungs 
and  the  carriage  of  the  body,  is  to  walk  and  speak 
aloud  at  the  same  time  ;  a  task  which  at  first  will  ap- 
pear difficult  and  tiresome,  but  by  practice, — carefully 
observing  the  rules  which  I  have  laid  down  for  pause 
and  inspiration,  to  supply  expended  breath, — will  be- 
come easy  ;  and  I  answer  for  it,  that  the  voice  will  be 
by  this  means  much  increased  in  strength,  the  carri- 
age of  the  body  improved,  and  the  health  of  the  lungs 
greatly  promoted.  I  recommend  any  person  whose 
profession  calls  on  him  to  speak  loud  and  long, — 
either  in  the  Pulpit,  the  Senate,  at  the  Bar,  or  in  the 
Lecture-Room, — to  make  frequent  trial  of  this  exer- 
cise. Let  him  take  Brutus's  speech,  for  example, 
particularly  observing  the  pauses  as  I  have  marked 
them ;  let  him  commence,  the  first  day,  by  walking 
slowly  while  he  recites  aloud  with  the  proper  inflec- 
tions, (fcc,  but  not  with  too  great  an  effort  of  voice, 
as  much  of  the  speech  as  is  so  marked,  (p.  148.)  Let 
him  continue  this  exercise  daily,  gradually  increasing 
in  exertion  of  voice,  and  rapidity  of  walk,  and  1  will 
undertake  that,  in  a  very  short  time,  (provided  there 
be  no  disease  in  his  lungs,)  he  shall  be  able  not  only 
to  execute  the  whole  of  that  speech  while  walking  in 
the  open  air,  but  that  he  shall  be  able  at  length  to 
speak  it  clearly,  distinctly,  and  forcibly,  while  run- 
ning gently  up-hill. 

This  exercise  will  also,  infallibly,  tend  to  the  im- 


GESTURE,  AND  VOCAL  GYMNASTICS.  209 

provement  of  his  general  carriage  ;  for,  the  e(!brt  of 
speaking  whilst  walking  will  compel  him,  instinctive- 
ly, to  hold  his  body  straight  and  to  expand  his  chest, 
for  the  more  easy  delivery  of  his  voice,  which  cannot 
have  fair  play  with  a  stooping  body  or  rounded 
shoulders.  To  speak  well,  easily,  and  powerfully, 
the  body  must  be  erect,  the  chest  expanded,  the  legs 
firmly  set  under  the  hips,  to  support  the  body,  and 
form  a  ^ooA  fulcrum  for  the  efforts  of  the  voice. 

And  this  is  the  first  step  towards  Gesture. 

The  next  is  to  acquire  an  easy  and  free  use  of 
the  arms ;  and  a  pliancy  of  wrist.  In  this,  the 
fencing-master  is  the  best  assistant.  His  practice 
will  correct  the  prevailing  awkwardness  of  gesture 
which  consists  in  keeping  the  elbows  glued,  (if  I  may 
say  so,)  to  the  side  ;  and  working  the  arm  in  a  con- 
tinued angidar  movement,  most  unsightly,  and  utter- 
ly irreconcileable  with  power  or  grace  of  action. 

Next,  let  the  speaker  always  bear  in  mind,  that  the 
object  of  gesture  is  to  assist  or  enforce  the  words 
which  it  accompanies.  Gesture  is,  in  fact,  the  ally  of 
speech.  Its  province  is  to  second  the  voice.  '^  Action 
and  utterance'''  go  together :  Shakspeare  has  so  placed 
them ;  and  the  action  must  be  akin  to  the  utterance ; 
the  gesture  must  be  relative  to  the  words.  Gesture, 
therefore,  must  not  be  vague,  unmeaning,  motionless  ; 
or  it  will  be  a  mere  "  sawing  of  the  air."  It  must 
have  purport  and  force  ;  it  must  be,  as  it  were,  an 
animated  comment  on  the  text  which  it  accompanies. 

To  effect  this,  the  following  hints  may  be  of  some 
service  in  guiding  the  young  speaker  to  a  correct  and 


210  ART   OF   ELOCUTION. 

pleasing  system  of  action  ;  at  the  same  time,  I  must 
repeat,  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  teach  gesture  by 
written  instructions :  three  practical  lessons  with  a 
good  and  experienced  professor  will  do  more  towards 
giving  the  pupil  ease^  grace,  and  force  of  action, 
than  all  the  hooks  and  'plates  in  the  world.  My  own 
pupils  have  found  some  aid  from  the  following 

Sketch  of  a  Sgstem  of  (KJesttive. 

ALL  GESTURE  is 

Active  (or  passionate) — i.  e.  dictated  by,  and  expressing 

the  action.,  or  affection  of  the  speaker'' s  mind;  or, 
Demonstrative  (or  descriptive) — of  some  object,  action, 

or  scene  spoken  of  or  referred  to. 

GESTURE  is  made  up  of 

1.  Position  of  the  Body,  which  must  be  properly  balanced 

and  firmly  fixed,  whether  advanced  (adv.)  or  retired 
(ret.) — that  is,  at  rest. 

2.  The  FORM  of  the  Hand,  which  defines  the  nature  of  the 

gesture., 

3.  The  POSITION  or  direction  of  the  Arm;  and, 

4.  The  MOTION  of  the  Arm — which  defines  the  extent  and 

limit  of  the  gesture. 

5.  The  STROKE  or  beat  from  the  Wrist — which  (being 

made  on  the  emphatic  word  or  expression,  or  the  one 
to  which  the  gesture,  if  descriptive,  refers,)  finishes 
and  perfects  the  action. 

EXPRESSION    OF    FACE. 

Nor  should  the  face  and  eye  be  silent,  or  idle:  they  must  as- 
sist the  gesture  and  movement  of  body,  arm,  /land,  by  a  corres- 
ponding e.i-pression, — whether  of  inquiry  or  denial, — calmness 
or  excitement, — sorrow,  Joy,  triumph,  scorn,  defiance,  pity,  anger, 
&c.  It  is  the  harmonious  combination  and  expression  of  the 
WHOLE  MAN  tiiat  make  powerful  and  graceful  gesture. 

Attitude  is  the  (extravagance  or  exaggeration  of  gesture,  un- 
der tln!  mo.st  powerful  excitement  of  passion  ;  its  study  and  prac- 
tice belong  to  the  Actor,  and  are  therefore  not  introduced  here. 


TAISLE    OF   WJESTURE. 


s. 

cl. 
i. 

I.. 
B. 

els. 


FORM  OF  THE  HAND. 


Natural — (the  form  in 
which  the  hand  is  held 
out  to  shake  hands) . . 

Prone — the  reverse  of 
the  natural  hand .... 

Supine  —  the  natural 
hand  in  tension 


Closed,  or  clenched. . . 

Index  finger,  marking 
or  pointing  (the  other 
fingers  being  closed) . 

Left  hand 


Both  hands. 
Clasped. . . . 


USE,  OR  EXPRESSION. 


C  Used  in  addressing,  appealing 

}  to,  exhorting,  entreating,  repre- 

(  senting. 

c  Forbidding,  rejecting,  denying, 

}  abjuring,  commanding,  crush- 

(  ing,  destroying. 

i  This  form  is  a  stronger  expres- 

\  sion  of  the  natural  hand,  ior force. 

C  Used  only  in  strong  passion :  or 

^  as  a  descriptive  gesture  of  ex- 

l  traordiriary  force. 

C  Advising,  arguing,  instructing, 

}  impressing,  teaming,  pointing, 

I  marking,  reproving. 

Used  occasionally  for  variety. 
Used  in  addressing  large  assem- 
blies, or  in  violent  feeling ;  or  ex- 
tended action  (descriptive.) 

In  prayer. 


POSITION     OF     THE     ARM. 

e.  elevated.  o.  oblique.  z.     zenith. 

f,  forwards.  b.  horizontal.  fo.  folded. 
d.  downwards.  v.  vertical.  cr.  crossed. 
u.  upwards.  x.  extended.  fe..   akimbo. 

Note. — The  position  of  the  arm  is  regulated  according  to  the 
situation  (above  or  below  the  speaker)  of  those  addressed, — or  ele- 
vation or  depression  oHhefeeling  expressed,  or  object  described. 


OF   THE    a: 
flourish — 

"  triumph." 
trembling, 
spreading, 
outwards. 

Note. — The  motion  of  the  arm,  by  its  direction  and  rapidity, 
expresses  the  triumph,  or  depression,  or  energy  of  the  orator's 
feelings,  or  the  position  of  the  object  described. 


MOTION 

a. 

ascending. 

n. 

d. 

descending. 

b. 

beating. 

tr. 

c. 

circle — 

sp. 

"  croicning.'^ 

on. 

in.  inwards. 

w.  waving. 

gr.  grasping. 

St.  striking. 


REMARKS. 

The  initial  letters  enable  the  student  or  speaker  to  mark,  in 
a  written  speech,  any  gestures  he  may  think  appropriate :  thus, 
B.  u.  b.  f.  w.  would  signify,  Both  hands  natural,  horizontal, 
forwards,  waving — the  proper  gesture  for  such  words  as, 
"  Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers  !" 

B.  n.  f.  e.  Both  hands  natural,  forwards,  elevated — is  the 
gesture  of"  supplication." 


APPENDIX; 

COr^TAINING 

A  COMPLETE  COURSE  OF  PRACTICE 

IN 

PROSE-READING, 

AND   IN 

ORATORICAL,  POETICAL,  AND  DRAMATIC 

DECLAMATION. 


APPENDIX,    &c. 


PROSE-READING. 

DELICACY  OF  TASTE.— Hume. 

Nothing  is  so  improving  to  the  temper  as  the  study 
of  the  beauties  either  of  poetry,  eloquence,  music,  or 
painting.  They  give  a  certain  elegance  of  sentiment, 
to  which  the  rest  of  mankind  are  strangers.  The 
emotions  which  they  excite  are  soft  and  tender. 
They  draw  off  the  mind  from  the  hurry  of  business 
and  interest ;  cherish  reflection  ;  dispose  to  tranquilli- 
ty ;  and  produce  an  agreeable  melancholy,  which,  of 
all  dispositions  of  the  mind,  is  the  best  suited  to  love 
and  friendship.  In  the  second  place,  a  delicacy  of 
taste  is  favorable  to  love  and  friendship,  by  confining 
our  choice  to  few  people,  and  making  us  indifferent  to 
the  company  and  conversation  of  the  greater  part  of 
men.  You  will  seldom  find  that  mere  men  of  the 
world,  whatever  strong  sense  they  may  be  endowed 
with,  are  very  nice  in  distinguishing  characters,  or  in 
marking  those  insensible  differences  and  gradations 


216  PRACTICE    IN    ELOCUTION, 

which  make  one  man  preferable  to  another.  Any  one 
that  has  competent  sense,  is  sufficient  for  their  enter- 
tainment :  they  talk  to  him  of  their  pleasures  and  af- 
fairs with  the  same  frankness  that  they  would  to 
another ;  and  finding  many  who  are  fit  to  supply  his 
place,  they  never  feel  any  vacancy  or  want  in  his 
absence. 

But,  to  make  use  of  the  allusion  of  a  celebrated 
French  author,  the  judgment  may  be  compared  to  a 
clock  or  watch,  where  the  most  ordinary  machine  is 
sufiicient  to  tell  the  hours,  but  the  most  elaborate  alone 
can  point  at  the  minutes  and  seconds,  and  distinguish 
the  smallest  difierences  of  time.  One  that  has  well 
digested  his  knowledge,  both  of  books  and  men,  has  lit- 
tle enjoyment  but  in  the  company  of  a  few  select  com- 
panions. He  feels  too  sensibly  how  much  all  the  rest 
of  mankind  fall  short  of  the  notions  which  he  has  en- 
tertained ;  and  his  aflections  being  thus  confined  with- 
in a  narrow  circle,  no  wonder  he  carries  them  further 
than  if  they  were  more  general  and  undistinguished. 
The  gaiety  and  frolic  of  a  bottle  companion  improve, 
with  him,  into  a  solid  friendship  ;  and  the  ardors  of  a 
youthful  appetite  become  an  elegant  passion. 

DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  COLISEUM.— Forsyth. 

A  COLOSSAL  taste  gave  rise  to  the  Coliseum.  Here, 
indeed,  gigantic  dimensions  were  necessary;  for 
though  hundreds  could  enter  at  once,  and  fifty  thou- 
sand find  seats,  the  space  was  still  insufficient  for 
Rome,  and  the  crowd  for  the  morning  games  began  at 


pkose-keadi-nCt.  217 

midnight.  Vespasian  and  Titus,  as  if  presaging  their 
own  deaths,  hurried  the  huilding,  and  left  several 
marks  of  their  precipitancy  behind.  In  the  upper 
walls,  they  have  inserted  stones  which  were  evidently 
dressed  for  a  different  purpose.  Some  of  the  arcades 
are  grossly  unequal ;  no  moulding  preserves  the  same 
level  and  form  round  the  whole  ellipse,  and  eveiy  or- 
der is  full  of  license.  The  Doric  has  no  triglyphs 
nor  72ietopcs,  and  its  arch  is  too  low  for  its  columns  ; 
the  Ionic  repeats  the  entablature  of  the  Doric  ;  the 
third  order  is  but  a  rough  cast  of  the  Corinthian,  and 
its  foliage  the  thickest  water-plants  ;  and  the  whole  is 
crowned  by  a  heavy  Attic.  Happily  for  the  Coliseum, 
the  shape  necessary  to  an  amphitheatre  has  given  it  a 
stability  of  construction  sufficient  to  resist  fires,  and 
earthquakes,  and  sieges.  Its  elliptical  form  was  the 
hoop  which  bound  and  held  it  entire  till  barbarians 
burst  that  consolidating  ring ;  popes  widened  the 
breach  ;  and  time,  not  unassisted,  continues  the  work 
of  dilapidation.  At  this  moment,  the  hermitage  is 
threatened  with  a  dreadful  crash,  and  a  generation  not 
very  remote  must  be  content,  I  apprehend,  with  the 
picture  of  tliis  stupendous  monument.  Of  the  interi- 
or elevation,  two  slopes,  by  some  called  menia?ia,  are 
already  demolished ;  the  arena,  the  podmni,  are  in- 
terred. No  member  runs  entire  round  the  whole  el- 
lipse ;  but  every  member  made  such  a  circuit,  and  re- 
appears so  often,  that  plans,  sections,  and  elevations  of 
the  original  work  arc  drawn  with  the  precision  of  a 
modern  fabric.  When  the  whole  amphitheatre  was 
entire,  a  child  might  comprehend  its  design  in  a  mo- 

K 


218  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCTTTION. 

merit,  and  go  direct  to  his  place  without  straying  in 
the  porticos,  for  eacli  arcade  bears  its  number  engrav- 
ed, and  opposite  to  every  fourth  arcade  was  a  staircase. 
This  multiphcity  of  wide,  straight,  and  separate  pass- 
ages, proves  the  attention  which  the  ancients  paid  to 
the  safe  discharge  of  a  crowd  ;  it  finely  illustrates  the 
precept  of  Vitruvius,  and  exposes  the  perplexity  of 
some  modern  theatres. 

Every  nation  has  undergone  its  revolution  of  vices  | 
and  as  cruelty  is  not  the  present  vice  of  ours,  we  can 
all  humanely  execrate  the  purpose  of  amphitheatres 
now  that  they  lie  in  ruins.  Moralists  may  tell  us  that 
the  truly  brave  are  never  cruel ;  but  this  monument 
says  '  No.'  Here  sat  the  conquerors  of  the  world, 
coolly  to  enjoy  the  tortures  and  death  of  men  who  had 
never  offended  them.  Two  aqueducts  were  scarcely 
sufficient  to  wash  off  the  human  blood  which  a  few 
hours'  sport  shed  in  the  imperial  shambles.  Twice  in 
one  day  came  the  senators  and  matrons  of  Rome  to 
the  butchery  ;  a  virgin  always  gave  the  signal  for 
slaughter ;  and  when  glutted  with  bloodshed,  those 
ladies  sat  down  in  the  wet  and  streaming  arena  to  a 
hixurious  supper  !  Such  reflections  check  our  regret 
for  its  ruin. 

As  it  now  stands,  the  Coliseum  is  a  striking  image 
of  Rome  itself — decayed,  vacant,  serious,  yet  grand — 
half-gray  and  half-green — erect  on  one  side,  and  fallen 
on  the  other,  with  consecrated  ground  in  its  bosom  ;  in- 
habited by  a  beadsman,  visited  by  every  caste  ;  for  mo- 
ralists, antiquaries,  painters,  architects,  devotees  all  meet 
here  to  examine,  to  draw,  to  measure,  and  to  pray  ! 


PROSE-KEADING.  219 

DEATH  AND  CHARACTER  OF  aUEEN  ELIZABETH. 

Hume. 

Some  incidents  happened  which  revived  her  tender- 
ness for  Essex,  and  filled  her  with  the  deepest  sorrow 
for  the  consent  which  she  had  unwarily  given  for  his 
execution. 

The  Earl  of  Essex,  after  his  return  from  the  fortu- 
nate expedition  against  Cadiz,  observing  the  increase 
of  the  Q,ueen's  fond  attachment  towards  him,  took  oc- 
casion to  regret  that  the  necessity  of  her  service  re- 
quired him  often  to  be  absent  from  her  person,  and 
exposed  him  to  all  those  ill  offices  which  his  enemies, 
more  assiduous  in  their  attentions,  could  employ 
against  him.  She  was  moved  with  this  tender  jea- 
lousy ;  and  making  him  the  present  of  a  ring,  desired 
him  to  keep  that  pledge  of  her  affection,  and  assured 
him,  in  whatever  disgrace  he  should  fall,  whatever 
prejudices  she  might  be  induced  to  entertain  against 
him,  yet,  if  he  sent  her  that  ring,  she  would  immedi- 
ately, upon  sight  of  it,  recall  her  former  tenderiiess, 
would  afford  him  a  patient  hearing,  and  would  lend 
a  favorable  ear  to  his  apology.  Essex,  notwithstand-  • 
ing  all  his  misfortunes,  reserved  this  precious  gift  to 
the  last  extremity  ;  but,  after  his  trial  and  condemna- 
tion, he  resolved  to  try  the  experiment,  and  he  com- 
mitted the  ring  to  the  Countess  of  Nottingham,  whom 
he  desired  to  deliver  it  to  the  dueen.  The  Countess 
was  prevailed  on  by  her  husband,  the  mortal  enemy 
of  Essex,  not  to  execute  the  commission  ;  and  Eliza- 
beth, who  still  expected  that  her  favorite  would  make 


220  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCTJTION. 

this  last  appeal  to  her  tenderness,  and  who  ascribed  the 
neglect  of  it  to  his  invincible  obstinacy,  was,  after 
mnch  delay  and  many  internal  combats,  pushed  by 
resentment  and  policy  to  sign  the  warrant  for  his  ex- 
ecution. 

The  Countess  of  Nottingham,  falling  into  sickness, 
and  affected  with  the  near  approach  of  death,  was 
seized  with  remorse  for  lier  conduct ;  and,  having  ob- 
tained a  visit  from  the  Q,ueen,  she  craved  her  pardon 
and  revealed  to  her  the  fatal  secret.  The  Q,ueen,  as- 
tonished with  this  incident,  burst  into  a  furious  pas- 
sion :  she  shook  the  dying  Countess  in  her  bed  ;  and 
crying  to  her,  that  God  might  pardon  her,  but  she 
never  could,  she  broke  from  her,  and  thenceforth  re- 
signed herself  over  to  the  deepest  and  most  incurable 
melancholy.  She  rejected  all  consolation  ;  she  even 
refused  food  and  sustenance  ;  and,  tlirowing  herself  on 
the  floor,  she  remained  sullen  and  immoveable,  feed- 
ing her  thoughts  on  her  afflictions,  and  declaring  life 
and  existence  an  insuff*erable  burden  to  her.  Few 
words  she  uttered  ;  and  they  were  all  expressive  of 
some  inward  grief  which  she  cared  not  to  reveal :  but 
sigbs  and  groans  were  tlic  chief  vent  which  she  gave 
to  her  despondency,  and  which,  though  they  dis- 
covered her  sorrows,  were  never  able  to  ease  or  assuage 
them.  Ten  days  and  nights  she  lay  upon  the  carpet, 
leaning  upon  cushions  which  her  maids  brought  her ; 
and  her  physicians  could  not  persuade  her  to  allow 
herself  to  be  put  to  bed,  still  less  lo  make  trial  of  any 
remedies  which  they  prescribed  to  lu  r.  Her  anxious 
mind  at  last  had  so  long  preyed  on  her  frail  body,  that 


PKOSE-READING.  221 

her  end  was  visibly  approaching ;  and  the  Council, 
being  assembled,  sent  the  keeper,  admiral  and  secre- 
taiy  to  know  her  will  with  regard  to  her  successor. 
She  answered  with  a  faint  voice,  that  as  she  had  held 
a  regal  sceptre,  she  desired  no  other  than  a  royal  suc- 
cessor. Cecil  requesting  her  to  explain  herself  more 
particularly,  she  subjoined  that  she  would  have  a  king 
to  succeed  her  ;  and  who  should  that  be  but  her  near- 
est kinsman,  the  King  of  Scots  ?  Being  then  advised 
by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  to  fix  her  thoughts 
upon  God,  she  replied  that  she  did  so,  nor  did  her 
mmd  in  the  least  wander  from  him.  Her  voice  soon 
after  left  her  ;  her  senses  failed  ;  she  fell  into  a  lethar- 
gic slumber,  which  continued  some  hours,  and  she  ex- 
pired gently,  without  struggle  or  convulsion,  in  the 
seventieth  year  of  her  age  and  forty-fifth  of  her  reign. 
So  dark  a  cloud  overcast  the  evening  of  that  day, 
which  had  shone  out  with  a  mighty  lustre  in  the  eyes 
of  all  Europe.  There  are  few  great  personages  in 
history  who  have  been  more  exposed  to  the  calumnies 
of  enemies,  and  the  adulation  of  friends,  than  Q,ueen 
Elizabeth ;  and  yet  there  is  scarcely  any  whose  repu- 
tation has  been  more  certainly  determined  by  the 
unanimous  consent  of  posterity.  The  unusual  length 
of  her  administration,  and  the  strong  features  of  her 
character,  were  able  to  overcome  all  prejudices  ;  and 
obliging  her  detractors  to  abate  much  of  their  invec- 
tives, and  her  admirers  somewhat  of  their  panegyrics, 
have  at  last,  in  spite  of  political  factions,  and  what  is 
more,  of  religious  animosities,  produced  a  uniform 
judgment  with  regard  to  her  conduct.     Her  vigour, 


222  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCTTTIOX. 

her  constancy,  her  magnanimity,  her  penetration, 
vigilance  and  address,  are  allowed  to  merit  the  highest 
praises,  and  appear  not  to  have  been  surpassed  by  any 
person  that  ever  tilled  a  throne :  a  conduct  less  rigor- 
ous, more  sincere,  more  indulgent  to  her  people  would 
have  been  requisite  to  form  a  perfect  character.  By 
the  force  of  her  mind  she  controlled  all  her  more  ac- 
tive and  stronger  qualities,  and  prevented  them  from 
running  into  excess :  her  heroism  was  exempt  from 
temerity,  her  frugality  from  avarice,  her  friendship 
from  partiality,  her  active  temper  from  turbulency  and 
a  vain  ambition  :  she  guarded  not  herself  with  equal 
care  or  equal  success  from  lesser  infirmities ;  the 
rivalship  of  beauty,  the  desire  of  admiration,  the  jea- 
lousy of  love,  and  the  sallies  of  anger. 

Her  singular  talents  for  government  were  founded 
equally  on  her  temper  and  on  her  capacity.  Endowed 
with  a  great  command  over  herself,  she  soon  obtained 
an  uncontrolled  ascendant  over  her  people  ;  and,  while 
she  merited  all  their  esteem  by  her  real  virtues,  she 
also  engaged  their  affections  by  her  pretended  ones. 
Few  sovereigns  of  England  succeeded  to  the  throne 
in  more  difficult  circumstances ;  and  none  ever  con- 
ducted the  government  with  such  uniform  success  and 
felicity.  Though  unacquainted  with  the  practice  of 
toleration — the  true  secret  for  managing  religious  fac- 
tions— she  preserved  her  people  by  her  superior  pru- 
dence, from  those  confusions  in  which  theological 
controversy  had  involved  all  the  neighboring  nations  : 
and  though  her  enemies  were  the  most  powerful  prin- 
ces of  Europe,  the  most  active,  the  most  enterprising, 


PROSE-KEADING.  223 

the  least  scrupulous,  she  was  able  by  her  vigor  to 
make  deep  impressions  on  their  states  ;  her  own  great- 
ness meanwhile  remained  untouched  and  unimpaired. 

The  wise  ministers  and  brave  warriors  who  flourish- 
ed under  her  reign  share  the  praise  of  her  success ; 
but  instead  of  lessening  the  applause  due  to  her,  they 
make  great  addition  to  it.  They  owed,  all  of  them, 
their  advancement  to  her  choice  ;  they  were  supported 
by  her  constancy,  and  with  all  their  abilities  they 
were  never  able  to  acquire  any  undue  ascendant  over 
her.  In  her  family,  in  her  court,  in  her  kingdom,  she 
remained  equally  mistress  ;  the  force  of  the  tender 
passions  was  great  over  her,  but  the  force  of  her  mind 
was  still  superior ;  and  the  combat  which  her  victory 
visibly  cost  her,  serves  only  to  display  the  firmness  of 
her  resolution,  and  the  loftiness  of  her  ambitious 
sentiments. 

The  fame  of  this  princess,  though  it  has  surmounted 
the  prrjudices  both  of  faction  and  bigotry,  yet  lies  still 
exposed  to  another  prejudice,  which  is  more  durable 
because  more  natural,  and  which,  according  to  the 
different  views  in  which  we  survey  her,  is  capable  of 
exalting  beyond  measure,  or  diminishing  the  lustre 
of  her  character.  This  prejudice  is  founded  on  the 
consideration  of  her  sex.  When  we  contemplate  her 
as  a  woman,  we  are  apt  to  be  struck  with  the  highest 
admiration  of  her  great  qualities  and  extensive  capa- 
city ;  but  we  are  also  apt  to  require  some  more  softness 
of  disposition,  some  greater  lenity  of  temper,  some  of 
those  amiable  weaknesses  by  which  her  sex  is  distin- 
guished.    But  the  true  method  of  estimating  her  merit 


224  PRACTICE   OF   ELOCUTION. 

is  to  lay  aside  all  these  considerations,  and  consider 
her  merely  as  a  rational  being  placed  in  authority, 
and  entrusted  with  the  government  of  mankind.  We 
may  find  it  difficult  to  reconcile  our  fancy  to  her  as  a 
wife  or  a  mistress  ;  but  her  qualities  as  a  sovereign, 
though  with  some  considerable  exceptions,  are  the  ob- 
ject of  undisputed  applause  and  approbation. 

CHARACTER  OF  MARY  aUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 

Robertson. 

To  ALL  the  charms  of  beauty  and  the  utmost  ele- 
gance of  external  form,  she  added  those  accomplish- 
ments which  render  their  impression  irresistible.  Po- 
lite, affable,  insinuating,  sprightly,  and  capable  of 
speaking  and  of  writing  with  equal  ease  and  dignity. 
Sudden,  however,  and  violent  in  all  her  attachments, 
because  her  heart  was  warm  and  unsuspicious.  Im- 
patient of  contradiction,  because  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed from  her  infancy  to  be  treated  as  a  queen.  No 
stranger,  on  some  occasions,  to  dissimulation,  which, 
in  that  perfidious  court  where  she  received  her  educa- 
tion, was  reckoned  among  the  necessary  arts  of  govern- 
ment. Not  insensible  of  flattery,  or  unconscious  of 
that  pleasure  with  which  almost  every  woman  beholds 
the  influence  of  her  own  beauty.  Formed  with  the 
qualities  that  we  love,  not  with  the  talents  that  we 
admire,  she  was  an  agreeable  woman  rather  than  an 
illustrious  queen.  The  vivacity  of  her  spirit  not  suf- 
ficiently tempered  with  sound  judgment,  and  the 
warmth  of  her  heart,  which  was  not  always  under  the 


PROSE-READING.  225 

restraint  of  discretion,  betrayed  her  both  into  errors 
and  into  crimes.  To  say  that  she  was  always  unfor- 
tunate, will  not  account  for  that  long  and  almost  unin- 
terrupted succession  of  calamities  that  befel  her  ;  we 
must  likewise  add  that  she  was  often  imprudent.  Her 
passion  for  Darnley  was  rash,  youthful  and  excessive  : 
and  though  the  sudden  transition  to  the  opposite  ex- 
treme was  the  natural  eflect  of  her  ill-requited  love, 
and  of  his  ingratitude,  insolence  and  brutality,  yet 
neither  these,  nor  Both  well's  artful  address  and  im- 
portant services,  can  justify  her  attachment  to  that 
nobleman.  Even  the  manners  of  the  age,  licentious 
as  they  were,  are  no  apology  for  this  unhappy  passion : 
nor  can  they  induce  us  to  look  on  that  tragical  and 
infamous  scene  which  followed  upon  it,  with  less  ab- 
horrence. Humanity  Avill  draw  a  veil  over  this  part 
of  her  character  which  it  cannot  approve,  and  may 
perhaps  prompt  some  to  impute  her  actions  to  her  situ- 
ation, more  than  to  her  disposition,  and  to  lament  the 
unhappiness  of  the  former,  rather  than  accuse  the  per- 
verseness  of  the  latter.  Mary's  sufferings  exceed,  both 
in  degree  and  in  duration,  those  tragical  distresses 
which  fancy  has  feigned  to  excite  sorrow  and  com- 
miseration ;  and  while  we  survey  them,  we  are  apt 
altogether  to  forget  her  frailties  ;  we  think  of  her 
faults  Avith  less  indignation,  and  approve  of  om-  tears 
as  if  they  were  shed  for  a  person  who  had  attained 
much  nearer  to  pure  virtue. 

With  regard  to  the  queen's  person,  a  circumstance 
not  to  be  omitted  in  writing  the  history  of  a  female 
reign,  all  contemporary  authors  agree  in  ascribing  to 


226  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Mary  the  utmost  beauty  of  countenance  and  elegance 
of  shape  of  which  the  human  form  is  capable.  Her 
hair  was  black  ;  though,  according  to  the  fashion  of 
that  age,  she  frequently  wore  borrowed  locks,  and  of 
different  colors.  Her  eyes  were  a  dark  gray,  her 
complexion  was  exquisitely  fine,  and  her  hands  and 
arms  remarkably  delicate,  both  as  regards  shape  and 
color.  Her  stature  was  of  a  height  that  rose  to  the 
majestic.  She  danced,  she  walked  and  rode  with 
equal  grace.  .Her  taste  for  music  was  just ;  and  she 
both  sang,  and  played  upon  the  lute  with  uncommon 
skill.  Towards  the  end  of  her  life  she  began  to  grow 
fat ;  and  her  long  confinement,  and  the  coldness  of  the 
houses  in  which  she  had  been  imprisoned,  brought  on 
a  rheumatism,  which  deprived  her  of  the  use  of  her 
limbs. 

"  No  man,"  says  Brantome,  "  ever  beheld  her  person 
without  admiration  and  love,  or  will  read  her  history 
without  sorrow." 

MARIE  ANTOINETTE,  Q,UEEN  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 

Burke. 

It  is  now  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  since  I  saw  the 
Q,ueen  of  France,  then  the  Dauphiness,  at  Versailles ; 
and  surely  never  lighted  on  this  oil),  which  she  hardly 
seemed  to  touch,  a  more  delightful  vision.  I  saw  her 
just  above  the  horizon,  decorating  and  cheering  the 
elevated  sphere  she  just  began  to  move  in — glittering 
like  the  morning  star,  full  of  life,  and  splendor,  and 
joy.     Oh  !  what  a  revolution  !  and  what  a  heart  must 


PROSE-READING.  227 

I  have  to  contemplate,  without  emotion,  that  elevation 
and  that  fall !  Little  did  I  dream,  when  she  added 
titles  of  veneration  to  that  enthnsiastic,  distant,  respect- 
ful love,  that  she  should  ever  be  obliged  to  carry  the 
sharp  antidote  against  disgrace  concealed  in  that  bo- 
som ;  little  did  I  dream  that  I  should  have  lived  to  see 
such  disasters  fallen  upon  her  in  a  nation  of  gallant 
men,  in  a  nation  of  men  of  honor  and  of  cavaliers. 
I  thought  ten  thousand  swords  must  have  leaped  from 
their  scabbards  to  avenge  even  a  look  that  threatened 
her  with  insult.  But  the  age  of  chivalry  is  gone. 
That  of  sophisters,  economists,  and  calculators  has 
succeeded  ;  and  the  glory  of  Europe  is  extinguished 
for  ever  !  Never,  never  more  shall  we  behold  that 
generous  loyalty  to  rank  and  sex,  that  proud  submis- 
sion, that  dignified  obedience,  that  subordination  of  the 
heart,  which  kept  alive,  even  in  servitude  itself,  the 
spirit  of  an  exalted  freedom.  The  unbought  grace  of 
life,  the  cheap  defence  of  nations,  the  nurse  of  manly 
sentiment  and  heroic  enterprise  is  gone  !  It  is  gone, 
that  sensibility  of  principle,  that  chastity  of  honor, 
which  felt  a  stain  like  a  wound,  which  inspired  cou- 
rage whilst  it  mitigated  ferocity,  and  ennobled  what- 
ever it  touched,  and  under  which  vice  itself  lost  half 
its  evil  by  losing  all  its  grossness. 

CONaUEST  OF  JERUSALEM  BY  THE  CRUSADERS, 
A.  D.  1009.— Gibbon. 

Jerusalem  has  derived  some  reputation  from  the 
number  and  importance  of  her  memorable  sieges.     It 


228  PRACTICE  OF  ELOCUTION. 

was  not  till  after  a  long  and  obstinate  contest  that 
Babylon  and  Rome  could  prevail  against  the  obstina- 
cj  of  the  people,  the  craggy  ground  that  might  super- 
sede the  necessity  of  fortifications,  and  the  walls  and 
towers  that  would  have  fortified  the  most  accessible 
plain.  These  obstacles  were  diminished  in  the  age 
of  the  Crusades.  The  bulwarks  had  been  complete- 
ly destroyed)  and  imperfectly  restored  ;  the  Jews,  their 
nation  and  worship,  were  forever  banished  ;  but  na- 
ture is  less  changeable  than  man,  and  the  site  of  Je- 
rusalem, though  somewhat  softened,  and  somewhat 
removed,  was  still  strong  against  the  assaults  of  an 
enemy.  By  the  experience  of  a  recent  siege,  and  a 
three  years'  possession,  the  Saracens  of  Egypt  had 
been  taught  to  discern,  and  in  some  degree  to  remedy, 
the  defects  of  a  place  which  religion  as  well  as  honor 
forbade  them  to  resign.  Aladin,  or  Iftikhar,  the  Ca- 
liph's lieutenant,  was  entrusted  with  the  defence  ;  his 
policy  strove  to  restrain  the  native  Christians  by  the 
dread  of  their  own  ruin  and  that  of  the  holy  sepul- 
chre ;  to  animate  the  Moslems  by  the  assurance  of 
temporal  and  eternal  rewards.  His  garrison  is  said 
to  have  consisted  of  forty  thousand  Turks  and  Arabi- 
ans ;  and  if  he  could  muster  twenty  thousand  of  the 
inhabitants,  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  besieged 
were  more  mmierous  than  the  besieging  army.  Had 
the  diminished  strength  and  numbers  of  the  Latins 
allowed  them  to  grasp  the  whole  circumference  of 
four  thousand  yards,  (about  two  English  miles  and  a 
half,)  to  what  useful  purpose  should  they  have  de- 
scended into  the  valley  of  Ben   Himmon  and  torrent 


PROSE-READING.  229 

of  Gedron,  or  approached  the  precipices  of  the  south 
and  east,  from  whence  they  had  nothing  either  to 
hope  or  fear  ?  Their  siege  was  more  reasonably  di- 
rected against  the  northern  and  western  sides  of  the 
city.  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  erected  his  standard  on  the 
first  swell  of  Mount  Calvary  ;  to  the  left,  as  far  as  St. 
Stephen's  gate,  the  line  of  attack  was  continued  by 
Tancred  and  the  two  Roberts  ;  and  Count  Raymojid 
established  his  quarters  from  the  citadel  to  the  foot  of 
Mount  Sinai,  which  was  no  longer  included  within 
the  precincts  of  the  city.  On  the  fifth  day,  the  cru- 
saders made  a  general  assault,  in  the  fanatic  hope  of 
battering  down  the  walls  without  engines,  and  of  sca- 
ling them  without  ladders.  By  dint  of  brutal  force 
they  burst  the  first  barrier ;  but  they  were  driven 
back  with  shame  and  slaughter  to  the  camp  :  the  in- 
fluence of  vision  and  prophecy  was  deadened  by  the 
too  frequent  abuse  of  those  pious  stratagems,  and 
time  and  labor  were  found  to  be  the  only  means  of 
victory.  The  time  of  the  siege  was  indeed  fulfilled  in 
forty  days,  but  they  were  forty  days  of  cailamity  and 
anguish.  A  repetition  of  the  old  complaint  of  famine 
may  be  imputed  in  some  degree  to  the  voracious  or 
disorderly  appetite  of  the  Franks,  but  the  stony  soil 
of  Jerusalem  is  almost  destitute  of  water  ;  the  scanty 
springs  and  hasty  torrents  were  dry  in  the  summer 
season  ;  nor  was  tlie  thirst  of  the  besiegers  relieved, 
as  in  the  city,  by  the  artificial  supply  of  cisterns  and 
aqueducts.  The  circumjacent  country  is  equally  des- 
titute of  trees  for  the  uses  of  shade  or  building,  but 
some  large  beams  were  discovered  in  a  cave  by  the 


230  PRACTICE    OP   ELOCUTION. 

crusaders  :  a  wood  near  Sichem,  the  enchanted  grove 
of  Tasso,  was  cut  down ;  the  necessary  timber  was 
transported  to  the  camp  by  the  vigor  and  dexterity 
of  Tancred  ;  and  the  engines  were  framed  by  some 
Genoese  artists,  who  had  fortunately  landed  in 
the  harbor  of  Jafia.  Two  moveable  turrets  were 
constructed  at  the  expense  and  in  the  stations  of  the 
Duke  of  Lorraine  and  the  Count  of  Tholouse,  and 
rolled  forwards  "\vith  devout  labor,  not  to  the  most 
accessible,  but  to  the  most  neglected  parts  of  the 
fortification.  Raymond's  tower  was  reduced  to  ashes 
by  the  fire  of  the  besieged,  but  his  colleague  was 
more  vigilant  and  successful ;  the  enemies  were  driv- 
en by  his  archers  from  the  rampart ;  the  drawbridge 
was  let  down  ;  and,  on  Friday,  at  three  in  the  after- 
noon, Godfrey  of  Bouillon  stood  victorious  on  the 
walls  of  Jerusalem.  His  example  was  followed  on 
every  side  by  the  ennilation  of  valor  ;  and  about 
four  hundred  and  sixty  years  after  the  conquest  of 
Omar,  the  holy  city  was  rescued  from  the  Mahomme- 
dan  yoke. 

In  the  pillage  of  public  and  private  wealth,  the  ad- 
venturers  had  agreed  to  respect  the  exclusive  ]jroperty 
of  the  first  occupant ;  and  the  spoils  of  the  great 
mosque — seventy  lamps  and  massy  vases  of  gold  and 
silver — rewarded  the  diligence  and  displayed  the  gen- 
erosity of  Tancred.  A  bloody  sacrifice  was  offered 
by  his  mistaken  votaries  to  the  God  of  the  Christians  ; 
resistance  might  provoke,  but  neither  age  nor  sex 
could  mollify  their  implacable  rage  :  they  indulged 
themselves  three  days  in  a  promiscuous  massacre,  and 


PROSE-READING.  231 

the  infection  of  the  dead  bodies  produced  an  epidem- 
ical disease.  After  seventy  thousand  Moslems  had 
been  put  to  the  sword,  and  the  harmless  Jews  had 
been  burnt  in  their  synagogue,  they  could  still  reserve 
a  multitude  of  captives,  whom  interest  or  lassitude 
persuaded  them  to  spare.  Of  these  -savage  heroes  of 
the  Cross,  Tancred  alone  betrayed  some  sentiments  of 
compassion  ;  yet  we  may  praise  the  more  selfish  len- 
ity of  Raymond,  who  granted  a  capitulation  and  safe 
conduct  to  the  garrison  of  the  citadel. 

The  holy  sepulchre  was  now  free  ;  and  the  bloody 
victors  prepared  to  accomplish  their  vow.  Barehead- 
ed and  barefoot,  with  contrite  hearts,  and  in  an  hum- 
ble posture,  they  ascended  the  hill  of  Calvary  amidst 
the  loud  anthems  of  the  clergy ;  kissed  the  stone 
which  had  covered  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  and  be- 
dewed with  tears  of  joy  and  penitence  the  monument 
of  their  redemption. 

STORY  OF  LA  ROCHE.— Mackenzie.* 

More  than  forty  years  ago,  an  English  philosopher, 
whose  works  have  since  been  read  and  admired  by 
all  Europe,  resided  at  a  little  town  in  France.  Some 
disappointments  in  his  native  country  had  first  driven 
him  abroad,  and  he  was  afterwards  induced  to  remain 

*  Author  of  «  The  Man  of  Feeling."  The  character  of  the 
philosopjipr  in  this  fine  story  Avas  intended  for  Hume  :  I  have 
therefore  supplied  the  6/a;?A- (originally  left.)  with  his  name,  for 
the  greater  convenience  of  the  reader.  The  tale  appeared  in 
«  The  Mirror,"  1780. 


232  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

there,  from  having  found,  in  this  retreat,  where 
the  connexions  even  of  nation  and  language  were 
avoided,  a  perfect  sechision  and  retirement,  highly  fa- 
vorable to  the  developement  of  abstract  subjects,  in 
which  he  excelled  all  the  writers  of  his  time. 

Perhaps  in  the  structure  of  such  a  mind  as  Mr. 
Hume's,  the  finer  and  more  delicate  sensibilities  are 
seldom  known  to  have  place  ;  or,  if  originally  im- 
planted there,  are  in  a  great  measure  extinguished  by 
the  exertions  of  intense  study  and  profound  investiga^ 
tion.  Hence  the  idea  of  philosophy  and  unfeelingness 
being  united,  has  become  proverbial,  and,  in  common 
language,  the  former  word  is  often  used  to  express  the 
latter.  Our  philosopher  has  been  censured  by  some 
as  deficient  in  warmth  and  feeling :  but  the  mildness 
of  his  manners  has  been  allowed  by  all ;  and  it  is 
certain  that,  if  he  was  not  easily  melted  to  compas- 
sion, it  was  at  least  not  difficult  to  awaken  his  benev- 
olence. 

One  morning,  while  he  sat  busied  in  those  specula- 
tions which  afterwards  astonished  the  world,  an  old 
female  domestic,  who  served  him  for  a  housekeeper, 
brought  him  word  that  an  elderly  gentleman  and  his 
daughter  had  arrived  in  the  village  the  preceding  even- 
ing, on  their  way  to  some  distant  country,  and  that 
the  father  had  been  suddenly  seized  in  the  night  with 
a  dangerous  disorder,  which  the  people  of  the  inn 
where  they  lodged  feared  would  prove  mortal ;  that 
she  had  been  sent  for  as  having  some  knowledge 
in  medicine,  the  village  surgeon  being  then  absent ; 
and  that  it  was  truly  piteous  to  see  the  good  old  man, 


PROSE-RE  ADIXG.  233 

who  seemed  not  so  much  afflicted  by  his  own  distress 
as  that  which  it  caused  to  his  daughter.  Her  master 
laid  aside  the  volume  in  his  hand,  and  broke  off  the 
chain  of  ideas  it  had  inspired.  His  night  gown*  was 
exchanged  for  a  coat,  and  he  followed  his  gouver- 
nante  to  the  sick  man's  apartment. 

'Twas  the  best  in  the  little  inn  where  they  lay,  but 
a  paltry  one,  notwithstanding.  Mr.  Hume  was 
obliged  to  stoop  as  he  entered  it.  It  was  floored  with 
earth,  and  above  were  the  joists  not  plastered,  and 
hung  with  cobwebs.  On  a  flock-bed,  at  one  end,  lay 
the  old  man  he  came  to  visit  ;  at  the  foot  of  it,  sat  his 
daughter.  She  was  dressed  in  a  clean  white  bed- 
gown ;  her  dark  locks  hung  loosely  over  it  as  she 
bent  forward,  watching  the  languid  looks  of  her  fa- 
ther. Mr.  Hume  and  his  housekeeper  had  stood 
some  moments  in  the  room,  without  the  young  lady's 
being  sensible  of  their  entering  it. 

"  Mademoiselle  i"  said  the  old  woman  at  last,  in  a 
soft  tone.  She  turned,  and  showed  one  of  the  finest 
faces  in  the  world.  It  was  touched,  not  spoiled,  with 
sorrow  ;  and  when  she  perceived  a  stranger,  whom 
the  old  woman  now  introduced  to  her,  a  blush  at  first, 
and  then  the  gentle  ceremonial  of  native  politeness, 
which  the  affliction  of  the  time  tempered,  but  did  not 
extinguish,  crossed  it  for  a  moment  and  changed  its 
expression.  'Twas  sweetness,  all,  however,  and  our 
philosopher   felt   it    strongly.      It     was   not   a    time 

*  What  we.  at  this  day,  call  a  morning-gown,  was   in   the 
eighteenth  century  called  a  night-gown. 


234  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

for  words;  he  offered  his  services  in  a  few  sincere 
ones. 

"  Monsieur  hes  miserably  ill  here,"  said  the  gouver- 
nante  ;  "  if  he  could  possibly  be  moved  anywhere." 

"  If  he  could  be  moved  to  our  house,"  said  the  mas- 
ter. He  had  a  spare  bed  for  a  friend,  and  there  was 
a  garret-room  unoccupied,  next  to  the  gouvernante's. 
It  was  contrived  accordingly.  The  scruples  of  the 
stranger,  who  could  look  scruples  though  he  could 
not  speak  them,  were  overcome,  and  the  bashful  re- 
luctance of  his  daughter  gave  way  to  her  belief  of  its 
use  to  her  father.  The  sick  man  was  wrapt  in 
blankets  and  carried  across  the  streets  to  the  English 
gentleman's.  The  old  woman  helped  his  daughter  to 
nurse  him  there.  The  surgeon,  who  arrived  soon 
after,  prescribed  a  little,  and  nature  did  much  for  him  ; 
in  a  week  lie  was  able  to  thank  his  benefactor. 

By  this  time,  his  host  had  learned  the  name  and 
character  of  his  guest.  He  was  a  Protestant  clergy- 
man of  Switzerland,  called  La  Roche,  a  widower, 
who  had  lately  buried  his  wife  after  a  long  and  linger- 
ing illness,  for  which  travelling  had  been  prescribed ; 
and  was  now  returning  home,  after  an  ineffectual  and 
melancholy  jounicy,  with  his  only  child,  the  daugh- 
ter we  have  mentioned. 

He  was  a  devout  man,  as  became  his  profession. 
He  possessed  devotion  with  all  its  warmth,  but  none 
of  its  asperity  ;  I  mean  that  asperity  which  men,  call- 
ed devout,  sometimes  indulge  in.  Mr.  Hume,  though 
he  felt  no  devotion,  never  f[uarrelled  with  it  in  others. 
His  gouvernante  joined  the  old  man  and  his  daughter 


PROSE-READING.  235 

in  the  prayers  and  thanksgivings  which  they  put  up 
on  his  recovery  ;  for  she,  too,  was  a  heretic,  in  the 
phrase  of  the  village.  The  philosopher  walked  out 
with  his  long  staff  and  his  dog,  and  left  them  to  their 
prayers  and  their  thanksgivings. 

"  My  master,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  alas  !  he  is  not 
a  Christian,  hut  he  is  the  hest  of  unbelievers." 

"  Not  a  Christian !"  exclaimed  Mademoiselle  La 
Roche  ;  "  yet  he  saved  my  father  !  Heaven  bless  him 
for  it !    I  would  he  were  a  Christian  !" 

"  There  is  a  pride  in  human  knowledge,  my  child," 
said  her  father,  "  which  often  blinds  men  to  the  sub- 
lime truths  of  revelation  ;  hence,  opposers  of  Christi- 
anity are  found  among  men  of  virtuous  lives,  as  well 
as  among  those  of  dissipated  and  licentious  characters. 
Nay,  sometimes  I  have  known  the  latter  more  easi- 
ly converted  to  the  true  faith  than  the  former,  because 
the  fume  of  passion  is  more  easily  dissipated  than  the 
mist  of  false  theory  and  delusive  speculation." 

"  But  Mr.  Hume,"  said  his  daughter  ;  "  alas  !  my  fa- 
ther, he  shall  be  a  Christian  before  he  dies." 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  their  landlord. 
He  took  her  hand  with  an  air  of  kindness  ;  she  drew 
it  away  from  him  in  silence,  threw  down  her  eyes  to 
the  ground  and  left  the  room. 

"  I  have  been  thanking  God,"  said  the  good  La 
Roche,  "  for  my  recovery." 

"  That  is  right,"  replied  his  landlord. 

"  I  would  not  wish,"  contirmed  the  old  man  hesitat- 
ingly, "  to  think  otherwise.  Did  I  not  look  up  with 
gratitude  to  that  Being,  I  should   barely   be    satisfied 


236  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

with  my  recovery  as  a  continuation  of  life,  which,  it 
may  be,  is  not  a  real  good.  Alas  !  I  may  live  to  wish 
I  had  died,  that  you  had  left  me  to  die,  sir,  instead  of 
kindly  relieving  me  (he  clasped  Mr.  Hume's  hand) ; 
but  when  I  look  on  this  renovated  being  as  the  gift  of 
the  Almighty,  I  feel  a  far  different  sentiment :  my 
heart  dilates  with  love  and  gratitude  to  him ;  it  is  pre- 
pared for  doing  his  will,  not  as  a  duty,  but  as  a  plea- 
sure ;  and  regards  every  breach  of  it,  not  with  disap- 
probation, but  with  horror." 

'•  You  say  right,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  the  philoso- 
pher :  "  but  you  are  not  yet  re-established  enough  to 
talk  much  ;  you  must  take  care  of  your  health,  and 
neither  study  nor  preach  for  some  time.  I  have  been 
thinking  over  a  scheme  that  struck  me  to-day  when 
you  mentioned  your  intended  departure.  I  never  was 
in  Switzerland  ;  I  have  a  great  mind  to  accompany 
your  daughter  and  you  into  that  country.  I  will  help 
to  take  care  of  you  by  the  road  ;  for,  as  I  was  your  first 
physician,  I  hold  myself  responsible  for  your  cure." 

La  Roche's  eyes  glistened  at  the  proposal ;  his 
daughter  was  called  in  and  told  of  it.  She  was  equal- 
ly pleased,  with  her  father ;  for  they  really  loved 
their  landlord — not  perhaps  the  less  for  his  infidelity ; 
at  least,  that  circumstance  mixed  a  sort  of  pity  with 
their  regard  for  him  :  their  souls  were  not  of  a  mould 
for  harsher  feelings  ;    hatred  never  dwelt  in  them. 

They  travelled  by  short  stages  ;  for  the  philosopher 
was  as  good  as  his  word,  in  taking  care  that  the  old 
man  should  not  be  fatigued.  The  party  had  time  to 
be  well  acquainted  with  one  another,  and  their  friend- 


PROSE-KEADI^•G.  237 

ship  was  increased  by  acquaintance.  La  Roche 
found  a  degree  of  sinipleness  and  gentleness  in  his 
companion  which  is  not  always  annexed  to  the  char- 
acter of  a  learned  or  a  wise  man.  His  daughter,  who 
was  prepared  to  be  afraid  of  him,  was  equally  unde- 
ceived. She  found  in  him  nothing  of  that  self-import- 
ance which  superior  parts,  or  great  cultivation  of  them, 
is  apt  to  confer.  He  talked  of  everything  but  philos- 
ophy or  religion  ;  he  seemed  to  enjoy  every  pleasure 
and  amusement  of  ordinary  life,  and  to  be  interested 
in  the  most  common  topics  of  discourse  :  when  his 
knowledge  or  learning  at  any  time  appeared,  it  was  de- 
livered with  the  utmost  plainness,  and  without  the 
least  shadow  of  dogmatism.  On  his  part,  he  was 
charmed  with  the  society  of  the  good  clergyman  and 
his  lovely  daughter.  He  found  in  them  the  guileless 
manner  of  the  earliest  times,  with  the  culture  and  ac- 
complishment of  the  most  refined  ones.  Every  better 
feeling  warm  and  vivid  ;  every  ungentle  one  repress- 
ed or  overcome.  He  was  not  addicted  to  love ;  but 
he  felt  himself  happy  in  being  the  friend  of  Mademoi- 
selle La  Roche,  and  sometimes  envied  her  father  the 
possession  of  such  a  child. 

After  a  journey  of  eleven  days,  they  arrived  at  the 
dwelling  of  La  Roche.  It  was  situated  in  one  of  those 
valleys  of  the  Canton  of  Berne,  where  nature  seems 
to  repose,  as  it  were,  in  quiet,  and  has  enclosed  her 
retreat  with  mountains  inaccessible.  A  stream,  that 
spent  its  fuiy  in  the  hills  above,  ran  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  a  broken  waterfall  was  seen  through  the 
woods  that  covered  its  sides  ;  below,  it  circled  round 


238  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

a  tufted  plain,  and  formed  a  little  lake  in  front  of  a 
village,  at  the  end  of  which  appeared  the  spire  of  La 
Roche's  church,  rising  above  a  clump  of  beeches.  Mr. 
Hume  enjoyed  the  beauty  of  the  scene  ;  but  to  his 
companions  it  recalled  the  memory  of  a  wife  and  pa- 
rent they  had  lost.  The  old  man's  sorrow  was  silent 
— his  daughter  sobbed  and  wept.  Her  father  took  her 
hand,  kissed  it  twice,  pressed  it  to  his  bosom,  threw 
up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  having  wiped  off  a  tear 
that  was  just  about  to  drop  from  each,  began  to  point 
out  to  his  guest  some  of  the  most  striking  objects 
which  the  prospect  afforded.  The  philosopher  inter- 
preted all  this  ;  and  he  could  but  slightly  censure  the 
creed  from  which  it  arose. 

They  had  not  been  long  arrived,  when  a  number 
of  La  Roche's  parishioners,  who  had  heard  of  his  re- 
turn, came  to  the  house  to  see  and  welcome  him.  The 
honest  folks  were  awkward  but  sincere  in  their  pro- 
fessions of  regard.  They  made  some  attempts  at  con- 
dolence ;  it  was  too  delicate  for  their  handling,  but 
La  Roche  took  it  in  good  part. 

"  It  has  pleased  God,"  said  he ;  and  they  saw  he 
had  settled  the  matter  with  himself. 

Philosophy  could  not  have  done  so  much  in  a  thou- 
sand words. 

It  was  now  evening,  and  the  good  peasants  were 
about  to  depart,  when  the  clock  was  heard  to  strike 
seven,  and  the  hour  was  followed  by  a  particular 
chime.  The  country  folks  who  had  come  to  welcome 
their  pastor,  turned  their  looks  towards  him  at  the 
sound  :  he  explained  their  meaning  to  his  guest. 


FROSE-READING.  239 

*'  That  is  the  signal,"  said  he,  "  for  our  evening  exer- 
cise ;  this  is  one  of  the  nights  of  the  week  in  which 
some  of  my  parishioners  are  wont  to  join  in  it ;  a  httle 
rustic  saloon  serves  for  the  chapel  of  our  family,  and 
such  of  the  good  people  as  are  with  us.  If  you  choose 
rather  to  walk  out,  I  will  furnish  you  with  an  attend- 
ant ;  or,  here  are  a  few  old  books  that  may  afford  you 
some  entertainment  within." 

"  By  no  means,"  answered  the  philosopher.  "  I  will 
attend  Mademoiselle  at  her  devotions." 

"  She  is  our  organist,"  said  La  Roche  :  "  our  neigh- 
borhood is  the  country  of  musical  mechanism,  and  I 
have  a  small  organ  fitted  up  to  assist  our  singing." 

"  'Tis  an  additional  inducement,"  replied  the  other  ; 
and  they  walked  into  the  room  together. 

At  the  end,  stood  the  organ  mentioned  by  La  Roche ; 
before  it  was  a  curtain,  which  his  daughter  drew  aside, 
and  placing  herself  on  a  seat  within,  and  drawing  the 
curtain  close,  so  as  to  save  herself  the  awkwardness 
of  an  exhibition,  began  a  voluntary  solemn  and  beau- 
tiful in  the  highest  degree.  Mr.  Hume  was  no  musi- 
cian, but  he  was  not  altogether  insensible  to  music  ; 
this  fastened  on  his  mind  more  strongly,  from  its  beauty 
being  unexpected.  The  solemn  prelude  introduced  a 
hymn,  in  which  such  of  the  audience  as  could  sing 
immediately  joined ;  the  words  were  mostly  taken 
from  holy  writ :  it  spoke  the  praises  of  God  and  his 
care  of  good  men.  The  organ  was  touched  with  a 
hand  less  firm  :  it  paused,  it  ceased,  and  the  sobbing 
of  Mademoiselle  La  Roche  was  heard  in  its  stead. 
Her  father  gave  a  sign  for  stopping  the  psalmody,  and 


240  PRACTICE   OF  ELOCtJTiON. 

rose  to  pray.  He  was  discomposed  at  first,  and  his 
voice  faltered  as  he  spoke  ;  but  his  heart  was  in  hia 
words,  and  his  warmth  overcame  his  embarrassment. 
He  addressed  a  Being  whom  he  loved,  and  he  spoke 
for  those  he  loved.  His  parishioners  caught  the  ardor 
of  the  good  old  man  ;  even  the  philosopher  felt  him- 
self moved,  and  forgot  for  a  moment  to  think  why  he 
should  not.  La  Roche's  religion  was  that  of  senti- 
ment, not  theory,  and  his  guest  was  averse  to  disputa- 
tion :  their  discourse,  therefore,  did  not  lead  to  ques» 
tions  concerning  the  belief  of  either  ;  yet  would  the 
old  man  sometimes  speak  of  his  from  the  fulness  of  a 
heart  impressed  with  its  force,  and  wishing  to  spread 
the  pleasure  he  enjoyed  in  it.  The  ideas  of  his  God 
and  his  Saviour  were  so  congenial  to  his  mind  that 
every  emotion  of  it  naturally  awaked  them.  A  phi- 
losopher might  have  called  him  an  enthusiast ;  but 
if  he  possessed  the  fervor  of  enthusiasts,  he  was  guilt- 
less of  their  bigotry.  "  Our  father  which  art  in 
heaven  !"  might  the  good  man  say,  for  he  felt  it,  and 
all  mankind  were  his  brethren. 

"  You  regret,  my  friend,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Hume, 
"  when  my  daughter  and  I  talk  of  the  exquisite  plea- 
sure derived  from  music,  you  regret  your  want  of  mu- 
sical powers  and  musical  feelings  ;  it  is  a  department 
of  soul,  you  say,  which  nature  has  almost  denied  you, 
which,  from  the  effects  you  sec  it  have  on  others,  you 
are  sure  must  be  highly  delightful.  Why  should  not 
the  same  thing  be  said  of  religion  1  Trust  me,  I  feel 
it  ill  the  same  way — an  energy,  an  inspiration,  which 
1  would  not  lose  for  all   the  blessings  of  sense,  or  en- 


PROSE-READI.NG.  241 

joyments  of  the  world  ;  yet,  so  far  from  lessening  my 
relish  of  the  pleasm'es  of  life,  methiuks  I  feel  it  heighten 
them  all.  The  thought  of  receiving  it  fioni  God  adds 
the  blessing  of  sentiment  to  that  of  sensation  in  every 
good  thing  I  possess  ;  and  when  calamities  overtake 
me — and  I  have  had  my  share — it  confers  a  dignity 
on  my  affliction,  so  lifts  me  above  the  world.  JMan,  I 
know,  is  but  a  worm,  yet,  methinks,  I  am  then  allied 
to  God." 

It  would  have  been  inhuman  in  our  philosopher  to 
have  clouded,  even  with  a  doubt,  the  sunshine  of  this 
belief  His  discourse,  indeed,  was  very  remote  from 
metaphysical  disquisition,  or  religious  controversy.  Of 
all  men  I  ever  knew,  his  ordinary  conversation  was  the 
least  tinctmed  with  pedantry,  or  liable  to  dissertation. 
Willi  La  Roche  and  his  daughter  it  V\'as  perfectly  fa- 
miliar. The  country  around  them,  the  manners  of  the 
village,  the  comparison  of  both  with  those  of  England, 
remarks  on  the  works  of  favorite  authors,  on  the  senti- 
ments they  conveyed,  and  the  passions  they  excited, 
with  many  other  topics  in  vv^hich  there  was  an  equality 
or  alternate  advantage  among  the  speakers,  were  the 
subjects  they  talked  on.  Their  hours,  too,  of  riding 
and  walking  were  many,  in  which  Mr.  Hume,  as  a 
stranger,  was  shown  the  remarkable  scenes  and  curi- 
osities of  the  countr5\  They  would  sometimes  make 
little  expeditions  to  contemplate,  in  different  altitudes, 
those  astonishing  mountains,  the  cliffs  of  which,  cover- 
ed with  eternal  snows,  and  sometimes  shooting  into 
fantastic  shapes,  form  the  termination  of  most  of  the 
Swiss  prospects.     Our  philosopher  asked  many  ques- 

L 


242  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

tions  as  to  their  natural  history  and  productions.  La 
Roche  observed  the  subUmity  of  the  ideas  which  the 
view  of  their  stupendous  summits,  inaccessible  to  mor- 
tal foot,  was  calculated  to  inspire,  which  naturally, 
said  he,  leads  the  mind  to  that  Being  by  whom  their 
foundations  were  laid, 

"  They  are  not  seen  in  Flanders,"  said  Mademoiselle^ 
with  a  sigh. 

"  That's  an  odd  remark,"  said  Mr.  Hume,  smiling. 
She  blushed,  and  he  inquired  no  further. 

'Twas  with  regret  he  left  a  society  in  which  he 
found  himself  so  happy ;  but  he  settled  with  La  Roche 
and  his  daughter  a  plan  of  corres}X)ndence  ;  and  they 
took  his  promise,  that  if  ever  he  came  within  fifty 
leagues  of  their  dwelling,  he  should  travel  those  fifty 
leagues  to  visit  them. 

About  three  years  after,  our  philosopher  was  on  a 
visit  at  Geneva ;  the  promise  he  made  to  I^a  Roche 
and  his  daughter  in  his  former  visit  was  recalled  to  his 
mind  by  a  view  of  ihat  range  of  mountains  on  a  part 
of  which  they  had  often  looked  together.  There  was 
a  reproach,  too,  conveyed  along  with  the  recollection, 
for  his  having  failed  to  Avrite  to  either  for  several 
months  past.  The  truth  was  that  indolence  was  the 
habit  most  natural  to  him,  from  which  he  was  not  easi- 
ly roused  by  the  claims  of  correspondence  either  of  his 
friends  or  of  his  enemies  ;  when  the  latter  drew  their 
pens  in  controversy,  they  were  often  unanswered  as 
well  as  the  former.  While  he  was  hesitating  about  a 
visit  to  La  Roche,  which  he  wislied  to  make,  but  found 
the  effort  rather  too  much  for  him,  he  received  a  let- 


PROSE-READING.  243 

ter  from  the  old  man,  which  had  been  forwarded  to 
him  from  Paris,  where  he  had  then  his  fixed  residence. 
It  contained  a  gentle  complaint  of  Mr.  Hume's  want 
of  punctuality,  but  an  assurance  of  continued  grati- 
tude for  his  former  good  otfices  ;  and  as  a  friend  whom 
the  writer  considered  interested  in  his  family,  it  in- 
formed him  of  the  approaching  nuptials  of  Mademoi- 
selle La  Roche  v/itli  a  young  man,  a  relation  of  her 
own,  and  formerly  a  pupil  of  her  fathers,  of  the  most 
amiable  disposition  and  respectable  character.  At- 
tached from  their  earliest  years,  they  had  been  sepa- 
rated by  his  joining  one  of  the  subsidiary  regiments  of 
the  Canton,  then  in  the  service  of  a  foreign  power.  In 
this  situation,  he  had  distinguished  himself  as  much  for 
courage  and  military  skill  as  for  the  other  endowments 
which  he  had  cultivated  at  home.  The  term  of  his 
service  was  now  expired,  and  they  expected  him  to 
return  in  a  few  weeks,  when  the  old  man  hoped,  as 
he  expressed  it  in  his  letter,  to  join  their  hands,  and 
see  them  happy  before  he  died. 

Our  philosopher  felt  himself  interested  in  this  event ; 
but  he  was  not,  perhaps,  altogether  so  happy  in  the 
tidings  of  Mademoiselle  La  Roche's  marriage  as  her 
father  supposed  him.  Not  that  he  was  ever  a  lover  of 
the  lady's ;  but  he  thought  her  one  of  the  most  ami- 
able women  he  had  seen,  and  there  was  something  in 
the  idea  of  her  being  another's  for  ever  that  struck  him, 
he  knew  not  why,  like  a  disappointment.  After  some 
little  speculation  on  the  matter,  however,  he  could 
look  on  it  as  a  thing  fitting,  if  not  quite  agreeable ; 


244  TEACTICE    OF    ELOCIjTIO:;. 

and  determined  on  this  visit  to  sec  his  old  friend  and 
his  daughter  happy. 

On  tlie  last  day  of  his  journey,  diiferent  accidents 
had  retarded  his  progress  ;  he  was  benighted  before 
he  reached  the  quarter  where  La  Roche  resided.  His 
guide,  however,  v/as  well  acquainted  with  the  road, 
and  he  found  himself  at  last  in  view  of  the  lake, 
which  I  have  before  described,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  La  Roche's  dwelling.  A  light  gleamed  on  the  wa- 
ter that  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  house  ;  it  moved 
slowly  along  as  he  proceeded  up  the  side  of  the  lake, 
and  at  last  he  saw  it  glimmer  through  the  trees,  and 
stop  at  some  distance  from  the  place  where  he  then 
was.  He  supposed  it  some  piece  of  bridal  merriment, 
and  pushed  on  his  horse,  that  he  might  bo  a  specta- 
tor of  the  scene  ;  but  he  was  a  good  deal  shocked,  on 
approaching  the  spot,  to  find  it  proceeded  from  the 
torch  of  a  person  clothed  in  the  dress  of  an  attendant 
on  a  funeral,  and  accompanied  by  several  others,  who, 
like  him,  seemed  to  have  been  employed  in  the  rites 
of  sepulture. 

On  Mr.  Hume's  making  inquiry  who  was  the  per- 
son they  had  been  burying,  one  of  them,  with  an  ac- 
cent more  mournful  than  is  common  to  their  profes- 
sion, answered.  "  Then  you  knew  not  Mademoiselle, 
sir  ?     You  never  beheld  a  lovelier." 

"  La  Roche  !"  exclaimed  he,  in  reply. 

"  Alas  !  it  was  she,  indeed  !" 

The  appearance  of  surprise  and  grief  which  his 
countenance  assumed  attracted  the  notice  of  the  pea- 
sant with  whom  he  talked.     He  came  up  close  to  Mr. 


PROSE-READING.  245 

Hume :  "  I  perceive,  sir,  you  were  acquainted  with 
Mademoiselle  La  Roche." 

"  Acquainted  with  her  !  Good  God  !  when — how — 
where  did  she  die  J     Where  is  her  father  ?" 

"  She  died  of  heart-break,  I  believe,  sir  ;  the  young 
gentleman  to  whom  she  was  to  have  been  married, 
was  killed  in  a  duel  by  a  French  officer,  his  Ultimate 
companion,  and  to  Avhom,  before  this  quarrel,  he  had 
often  done  the  greatest  favors.  Her  worthy  father 
bears  her  death  as  he  has  often  told  us  a  Christian 
should  ;  he  is  even  so  composed  as  to  be  now  in  his 
pulpit,  ready  to  deliver  a  few  exhortations  to  his  pa- 
rishioners, as  is  the  custom  with  us  on  such  occasions  : 
follow  us,  sir,  and  you  shall  hear  him.'" — He  followed 
the  man  without  answering. 

The  church  was  dimly  lighted,  except  near  the  pul- 
pit, where  the  venerable  La  Roche  was  seated.  His 
people  were  now  lifting  up  tlieir  voices  in  a  psalm  to 
that  Being  whom  their  pastor  had  taught  them  ever 
to  bless  and  to  revere.  La  Roche  sat,  his  figure  bend- 
ing gently  forward,  his  eyes  half-closed,  lifted  up  in 
silent  devotion.  A  lamp  placed  near  him  threw  its 
light  strong  on  his  head,  and  marked  the  shadowy 
lines  of  age  across  the  paleness  of  his  brow,  thinly 
covered  with  gray  hairs.  The  music  ceased.  La 
Roche  sat  for  a  few  moments,  and  nature  wrung  a 
few  tears  from  him.  His  people  were  loud  in  their 
grief     Mr.  Hume  was  not  less  aflccted  than  they. 

La  Roche  arose :  "  Father  of  mercies,"  said  he, 
"  forgive  these  tears  ;  assist  thy  servant  to  lift  up  his 
soul  to  thee ;  to  lift  to  thee  the  souls  of  thy  people. 


1216  PRACTICE    OF  ELOCUTIOX. 

My  friends,  it  is  good  so  to  do,  at  all  seasons  it  is 
good  ;  but  in  the  day  of  our  distress,  vvdiat  a  privilege 
it  is!  Well  saith  the  sacred  book,  'Trust  in  the 
Lord  ;  at  all  times  trust  in  the  Lord.'  When  every 
other  support  fails  us,  when  the  fountains  of  worldly 
corafoit  are  dried  up,  let  us  then  seek  those  living  wa- 
ters which  flow  from  the  throne  of  God.  'Tis  only 
from  the  belief  of  the  goodness  and  wistlom  of  a  Su- 
preme Being  tliat  our  calamities  can  be  borne  in  that 
manner  which  b?co:nos  a  man.  Human  Vv'isdom  is 
here  of  little  use ;  for,  in  proportion  as  it  bestows 
comfort,  it  represses  feeling,  without  wliich  we  may 
cease  to  be  hurt  by  calamity,  but  we  shall  also  cease 
to  enjoy  happiness.  I  will  not  bid  you  be  insensible, 
my  friends— I  cannot,  I  cannot,  if  I  would,  (his  tears 
flowed  afresh) — I  feel  too  much  myself,  and  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  my  feelings  ;  but  therefore  may  I  the 
more  willingly  be  heard  ;  therefore  have  I  prayed  to 
God  to  give  me  strength  to  speak  to  you.  to  direct  yen 
to  him,  not  with  empty  words,  but  with  these  tears  ; 
not  from  speculation,  but  from  experience  ;  tliat  while 
you  see  me  suffer,  you  may  know  also  my  consola- 
tion. 

"  You  behold  the  mourner  of  his  only  child,  the 
last  earthly  stay  and  blessing  of  his  declining  years  ! 
Such  a  child  too  !  It  becomes  not  me  to  speak  of  her 
virtues ;  yet  it  is  but  gratitude  to  mention  them,  be- 
cause they  were  exerted  towards  mj'self  Not  many 
days  ago  you  saw  her  young,  beautifnl,  virtuous,  and 
happy :  ye  wiio  are  parents  will  judge  of  my  felicity 
then — ye  will   jndge   of  rny    affliction  now.     But  I 


PROSE-READIXG.  247 

look  towards  Him  who  struck  me  ;  I  see  the  hand 
of  a  father  amidst  the  chastenings  of  my  God.  Oh  ! 
could  I  make  you  feel  what  it  is  to  pour  out  the  heart 
when  it  is  pressed  down  with  many  sorrows,  to  pour 
it  out  with  confidence  to  Him  in  whose  hands  are  life 
and  death,  on  whose  power  awaits  all  that  the  first 
enjoys,  and  in  contemplation  of  whom  disappears  all 
that  the  last  can  inflict !  For  we  are  not  as  those  who 
die  without  hope ;  we  know  that  our  Redeemer  liveth — 
that  we  shall  live  with  him,  with  our  friends,  his  ser- 
vants, in  that  blessed  land  where  sorrow  is  unknown, 
and  happiness  is  endless  as  it  is  perfect.  Go  then, 
mourn  not  for  me  ;  I  have  not  lost  my  child :  but  a 
little  while  and  we  shall  meet  again,  never  to  be 
separated  !  But  ye  are  also  my  children  :  would  you 
that  I  should  not  grieve  without  comfort  ?  )So  live  as 
she  lived ;  that  when  your  death  cometh,  it  may  be 
the  death  of  tlic  righteous,  and  yoiw  latter  end  like 
his." 

Such  was  the  exhortation  of  La  Roche ;  his  audi- 
ence answered  it  with  their  tears.  The  good  old  man 
had  dried  up  liis  at  the  altar  of  the  Lord  ;  his  counte- 
nance had  lost  its  sadness,  and  assumed  the  glow  of 
fiiith  and  of  hope.  Mr.  Hume  followed  him  into  his 
house.  The  inspiration  of  the  pulpit  was  past ;  at 
the  sight  of  him,  the  scene  they  had  just  passed  rushed 
again  on  his  mind  ;  La  Roche  threw  his  arms  round 
his  neck  and  watered  it  with  his  tears.  The  other 
was  equally  affected  ;  they  went  together  in  silence 
iuto  the  parlor  where  the  evening  service  was  wont  to 
be  performed.     The  curtains  of  the  organ  were  open  ; 


248  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

La  Roche  started  back  at  the  sight.  "  Oh  my  friend," 
said  he  ;  and  his  tears  burst  forth  again.  Mr.  Hinne 
had  now  recollected  himself;  he  stept  forward  and 
drew  the  curtains  close.  The  old  man  wiped  oflf  his 
tears,  and  taking  his  friend's  hand,  "You  see  my 
weakness,"  said  he  ;  "  'tis  the  weakness  of  humanity  ; 
but  my  comfort  is  not  therefore  lost." 

'•  I  heard  you,"  said  the  other,  "  in  the  pulpit ;  I  re- 
joice that  such  consolation  is  yours." 

"  It  is,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "  and  I  trust  I  shall  ever 
hold  it  fast.  If  there  are  any  who  doubt  our  faith,  let 
them  think  of  what  importance  religion  is  to  calamity, 
and  forbear  to  weaken  its  force  ;  if  they  cannot  re- 
store our  happiness,  let  them  not  take  away  the  solace 
of  our  affliction !" 

Mr.  Hume's  heart  was  smitten  ;  and  I  have  heard 
him  long  after  confess  that  there  were  moments  when 
the  remembrance  overcame  him  even  to  weakness  ; 
when,  amidst  all  the  pleasures  of  philosophical  dis- 
covery, and  the  pride  of  literary  fame,  he  recalled  to 
his  mind  the  venerable  figure  of  the  good  La  Roche, 
and  wished  that  he  had  never  doubted  ! 


MODERN  GALLANTRY.— C.  Lamb. 

In  comparing  modern  with  ancient  manners,  we  are 
pleased  to  compliment  ourselves  upon  the  point  of  gal- 
lantly ;  a  certain  obsequiousness,  or  deferential  re- 
spect, which  we  are  supposed  to  pay  to  females,  as 
females.  I  shall  believe  that  this  principle  animates 
our  conduct,  when  1  can  forget,  that  in  the  nineteonth 


PROSE-KEADI.XG.  219 

century  from  the  era  when  we  date  our  civility,  we 
are  but  just  beginning  to  leave  off  the  very  frequent 
practice  of  whipping  females  in  public,  in  common 
with  the  coarsest  male  offenders.  I  shall  believe  it  to 
be  influential,  when  I  can  shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact, 
that  in  England  women  are  still  occasionally — hanged. 
I  shall  believe  in  it,  v/hen  Dorimant  hands  a  fish-wife 
across  the  kennel,  or  assists  the  apple-woman  to  pick 
up  her  wandering  fruit,  which  some  unlucky  dray  has 
just  dissipated.  I  shall  believe  in  it,  when  the  Dori- 
mants  in  humbler  life,  who  would  be  thought,  in  their 
way,  notable  adepts  in  refinement,  shall  act  upon  it  in 
places  where  they  are  not  known,  or  think  themselves 
not  observed — when  I  shall  see  the  traveller  for  some 
rich  tradesman  part  with  his  admired  box-coat,  to 
spread  it  over  the  defenceless  shoulders  of  the  poor 
woman  who  is  passing  to  her  parish,  on  the  roof  of 
the  same  stage-coach  with  him,  drenched  with  the 
rain — when  I  shall  no  longer  see  a  woman  standing 
up  in  the  pit  of  a  London  theatre,  till  she  is  sick  and 
faint  with  the  exertion,  with  men  about  her,  seated  at 
their  ease,  and  jeering  at  her  distress ;  till  otic  that 
seems  to  have  more  manners  or  conscience  than  the 
rest,  significantly  declares  "  she  should  be  welcome  to 
his  seat  if  she  were  a  little  younger  and  handsomer." 
Place  this  dapper  warehouseman,  or  that  rider,  in  a 
circle  of  their  own  female  acquaintance,  and  you  shall 
confess  you  have  not  seen  a  politer  bred  man  in  Loth- 
bury.  Lastly,  I  shall  begin  to  believe  that  there  is 
some  such  principle  influencing  our  conduct,  when 
more   than  one  half  the   drudgery  and  coarse  ser- 

L* 


250  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

vitude  of  the  world  shall  cease  to  be  performed  by 
woman. 

Until  that  day  comes,  I  shall  never  believe  this 
boasted  point  to  be  anything  more  than  a  conventional 
fiction  ;  a  pageant  got  up  between  the  sexes,  in  a  cer- 
tain rank  and  at  a  certain  time  of  life,  in  which  both 
find  their  account  equally.  I  shall  be  even  disposed 
to  rank  it  among  the  salutary  fictions  of  life,  when  in 
polite  circles  I  shall  see  the  same  attentions  paid  to 
age  as  to  youth,  to  homely  features  as  to  handsome, 
to  coarse  complexions  as  to  clear — to  tlie  woman,  as 
she  is  a  woman,  not  as  she  is  a  beauty,  a  fortune,  or  a 
title.  I  shall  believe  it  to  be  something  more  than  a 
name,  when  a  well  dressed  gentleman  in  a  well- 
dressed  company  can  advert  to  the  topic  of  female 
old  age  without  exciting,  and  intending  to  excite,  a 
sneer : — when  the  phrases  "  antiquated  virginity,"  and 
such  a  one  has  '•  overstood  her  market,"  pronounced 
in  good  company,  shall  raise  immediate  offence  in 
man,  or  woman,  that  sliall  hear  them  spoken. 

CHARACTER   OF   PITT,   (LORD   CHATHAM.) 

Grattan. 

The  secretary  stood  alone.  Modern  degeneracy 
had  not  reached  him.  Original  and  unaccommodating, 
the  features  of  his  character  had  the  hardihood  of  an- 
tiquity. His  august  mind  overawed  majesty ;  and 
one  of  liis  sovereigns  thought  royalty  so  impaired  in 
his  presence,  that  he  conspired  to  remove  him,  in  or- 
der to  be  relieved  from  his  superiority.     No  state  chi- 


PROSB-RBADING.  2ol 

canery,  no  narrow  system  of  vicious  politics,  sunk  him 
to  the  vulgar  level  of  the  great ;  but.  overbearing,  per- 
suasive, and  impracticable,  his  object  was  England, 
his  ambition  was  fame.  Without  dividing,  he  de- 
stroyed party :  without  corrupting,  he  made  a  venal 
age  unanimous.  France  sunk  beneath  him.  With  one 
hand  he  smote  the  house  of  Bourbon,  and  wielded  in 
the  other  the  democracy  of  England.  The  sight  of 
his  mind  was  infinite  ;  and  his  schemes  were  to  affect, 
not  England,  not  the  present  age  only,  but  Europe  and 
posterity.  Wonderful  were  the  means  by  which  these 
schemes  were  accomplished  ;  always  seasonable,  al- 
ways adequate,  the  suggestions  of  an  understanding 
animated  by  ardor,  and  enlightened  by  prophecy. 

The  ordinary  feelings  which  make  life  amiable  and 
indolent  were  unknown  to  him.  No  domestic  diffi- 
culties, no  domestic  weakness,  reached  him  ;  but  aloof 
from  the  sordid  occurrences  of  his  life,  and  unsullied 
by  its  intercourse,  he  came  occasionally  into  our  sys- 
tem to  counsel  and  to  decide. 

A  character  so  exalted,  so  strenuous,  so  various,  so 
authoritative,  astonished  a  corrupt  age,  and  the  treasu- 
ry trembled  at  the  name  of  Pitt  through  all  tlie  classes 
of  venality.  Corruption  imagined,  indeed,  that  she 
had  found  defects  in  this  statesman,  and  talked  much 
of  the  inconsistency  of  his  glory,  and  the  ruin  of  his  vic- 
tories :  but  the  history  of  his  country  and  the  calami- 
ties of  the  enemy  answered  and  refuted  her.  Nor 
were  his  political  abilities  his  only  talents :  his  elo- 
quence was  an  era  in  the  senate,  peculiar  and  sponta- 
neous, familiarly  expressing  gigantic  sentiments  and 


252  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

instinctive  wisdom ;  not  like  the  torrent  of  Demos- 
thenes, or  the  splendid  conflagration  of  Tully ;  it  re- 
sembled sometimes  the  thunder,  and  sometimes  the 
music  of  the  spheres.  Like  Murray,  he  did  not  conduct 
the  understanding  through  the  painful  su-btlety  of  ar- 
gumentation ;  nor  was  he,  like  Townsend,  for  ever  on 
the  rack  of  exertion  ;  hut  rather  lightened  upon  the 
subject,  and  reached  the  point  by  the  flashings  of  the 
mind,  which,  like  those  of  his  eye,  were  felt,  but  could 
not  be  followed.  Upon  the  whole,  there  was  in  this 
man  something  that  could  create,  subvert,  or  reform  ; 
an  understanding,  a  spirit,  and  an  eloquence  to  sum- 
mon mankind  to  society,  or  to  break  the  bonds  of 
slavery  asunder,  and  to  rule  the  walderness  of  free 
minds  with  unbounded  authority;  something  that 
could  establish  and  overwhelm  empire,  and  strike  a 
blow  in  the  world  that  should  resound  through  the 
universe. 


CHARACTER  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.* 

Phillips. 

He  is  fallen !  We  may  now  pause  before  that 
splendid  prodigy,  which  towered  amongst  us  like 
some  ancient  ruin,  whose  frown  terrified  the  glance 
its  magnificence  attracted. 

Grand,  gloomy  and  peculiar,  he  sat  upon  the  throne, 
a  sceptred  hermit,  wrapped  in  the  solitude  of  his  own 
originality.    A  mind  bold,  independent  and  decisive — 

*  This  character  was  given  at  the  time  of  Napoleon's  exile 
to  Elba. 


raosE-READING.  253 

a  v/ill,  despotic  in  its  dictates, — an  energy  that  dis- 
tanced expedition,  and  a  conscience  pliable  to  every 
touch  of  interest,  marked  the  outline  of  this  extraor- 
dinary character — the  most  extraordinary  perhaps, 
that,  in  the  annals  of  the  world,  ever  rose,  or  reigned, 
or  fell. 

Flung  into  life,  in  the  midst  of  a  Revolution,  that 
quickened  every  energy  of  a  people  who  acknow- 
ledged no  superior,  he  commenced  his  course  a 
stranger  by  birth,  and  a  scholar  by  charity.  With 
no  friend  but  his  sword,  and  no  fortune  but  his 
talents,  he  rushed  into  the  lists  where  rank  and  genius 
had  arrayed  themselves,  and  competition  fled  from 
him  as  from  the  glance  of  destiny.  He  knew  no  motive 
but  interest — he  acknowledged  no  criterion  but  suc- 
cess— he  worshipped  no  God  but  ambition  ;  and  with 
an  eastern  devotion,  he  knelt  at  the  altar  of  his  idola- 
try. Subsidiary  to  this,  there  was  no  creed  that  he 
did  not  profess,  there  was  no  opinion  that  he  did  not 
promulgate  :  in  the  hope  of  a  dynasty,  he  upheld 
the  crescent ;  for  the  sake  of  a  divorce,  he  bowed  be- 
fore the  Cross  :  the  orphan  of  St.  Louis,  he  became  the 
adopted  child  of  the  republic  ;  and  with  a  parricidal 
ingratitude,  on  the  ruins  both  of  the  throne  and  the 
tribune,  he  reared  the  throne  of  his  despotism.  A  pro- 
fessed Catholic,  he  imprisoned  the  Pope  ;  a  pretended 
patriot,  he  impoverished  the  country  ;  and  under  the 
name  of  Brutus,  he  grasped  without  remorse,  and 
wore  without  shame,  the  diadem  of  the  Caesars  ! 

Through  this  pantomime  of  his  policy,  fortune 
played   the  clown   to   his   caprices.     At   his  touch, 


254  PRACtlCE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

crowns  crumbled,  beggars  reigned,  systems  vanished, 
the  wildest  theories  took  the  color  of  his  whims,  and 
all  that  was  venerable,  and  all  that  was  novel, 
changed  places  with  the  rapidity  of  a  drama.  Even 
apparent  defeat  assumed  the  appearance  of  victory — 
his  flight  from  Egypt  confirmed  his  destiny — ruin  it- 
self only  elevated  him  to  Empire.  But,  if  his  fortune 
was  great,  his  genius  was  transcendent,  decision 
Hashed  upon  his  counsels  :  and  it  was  the  same  to  de- 
cide and  to  perform.  To  inferior  intellects,  his  com- 
binations appeared  perfectly  impossible,  his  plans  per- 
fectly impracticable ;  but,  in  his  hands,  simplicity 
marked  their  developement,  and  success  vindicated 
their  adoption.  His  person  partoolv  of  the  character 
of  his  mind  ;  if  the  one  never  3- ielded  in  the  cabinet, 
the  other  never  bent  in  the  field.  Nature  had  no  ob- 
stacles that  he  did  not  surmount,  space  no  opposition 
that  he  did  not  spurn  ; — and  whether,  amid  Alpine 
rocks,  Arabian  sands,  or  polar  snows,  he  seemed  proof 
against  peril,  and  empowered  with  ubiquity.  The 
vx'hole  continent  of  Europe  trembled  at  beholding  the 
audacity  of  his  designs,  and  the  miracle  of  their  exe- 
cution. Scepticism  bowed  to  the  prodigies  of  his  per- 
formance ;  romance  assumed  the  air  of  history  ;  nor 
was  there  aught  too  incredible  for  belief,  or  too  fanci- 
ful for  expectation,  when  tlie  world  saw  a  subaltern 
of  Corsica  waving  his  imperial  flag  over  her  most  an- 
cient capitals.  All  the  visions  of  antiquity  became 
common  places  in  his  contemplation  ;  kings  were  his 
people — nations  were  his  outposts  ;  and  he  disposed 
of  courts,  and  crowns,  and  camps,  and  churches,  and 


PROSE-READING.  255 

cabinets,  as  if  they  were  the  titular  dignitaries  of  the 
chess-board. 

Amid  all  these  changes,  he  stood  immutable  as 
adamant.  It  mattered  little  whether  in  the  field  or 
the  drawing-room — with  the  mob  or  the  levee — wear- 
ing the  jacobin  bonnet  or  the  iron  crown — banishing 
a  Braganza,  or  espousing  a  Hapsburgh — dictating 
peace  on  a  raft  to  the  Czar  of  Russia,  or  contemplating 
defeat  at  the  gallows  of  Leipsic — he  was  still  the 
same  military  despot. 

Cradled  in  the  camp,  he  was  to  the  last  hour  the 
darling  of  the  army  ;  and  whether  in  the  camp  or  the 
cabinet,  he  never  forsook  a  friend,  or  forgot  a  favor. 
Of  all  his  soldiers,  not  one  abandoned  him,  till  affec- 
tion was  useless ;  and  their  first  stipulation  was  for 
the  safety  of  their  favorite.  They  knew  well  that  if 
he  was  lavish  of  them,  he  was  prodigal  of  himself; 
and  that  if  he  exposed  them  to  peril,  he  repaid  them 
with  plunder.  For  the  soldier,  he  subsidized  every 
people  ;  to  the  people,  he  made  even  pride  pay  tribute. 
The  victorious  veteran  glittered  V\'i{h  his  gains  ;  and 
the  capital,  gorgeous  with  the  spoils  of  art,  became 
the  miniature  metropolis  of  the  universe.  In  this 
wonderful  combination,  liis  affectation  of  literature 
must  not  be  omitted.  The  jailor  of  the  press,  he  af- 
fected the  patronage  of  letters— the  proscriber  of  books, 
he  encouraged  philosophy — the  persecutor  of  authors, 
and  the  murderer  of  printers,  he  yet  pretended  to  the 
patronage  of  learning— the  assassin  of  Palm,  the  si- 
lencer of  De  Stael,  and  the  denouncer  of  Kotzebue,  he 
was  the  friend  of  David,  the  benefactor  of  De  Lille,  and 


253  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

sent  his  academic  prize  to  the  philosopher  of  England.* 
— Such  a  medley  of  contradictions,  and  at  the  same 
time  such  an  individual  consistency,  were  never  united 
in  the  same  character.  A  royalist,  a  republican,  and 
an  emperor — a  Mahometan,  a  Catholic,  and  a  patron 
of  the  Synagogue — a  traitor  and  a  tyrant — a  Christian 
and  an  Infidel — he  was,  through  all  his  vicissitudes, 
the  same  stern,  impatient,  inflexible  original — the 
same  mysterious,  incomprehensible  self — the  man 
without  a  model,  and  without  a  shadow.  His  fall,  like 
his  life,  baffled  all  speculation.  In  short,  his  Avhole 
history  was  like  a  dream  to  the  world  ;  and  no  man 
can  tell  how  or  why  he  was  awakened  from  the  reverie. 
Such  is  a  faint  and  feeble  picture  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  :  the  first,  (and  it  is  to  be  hoped,  the  last,) 
Emperor  of  the  French,  That  he  has  done  much 
evil,  there  is  little  doubt :  that  he  has  been  the  origin 
of  much  good,  there  is  just  as  little.  Through  his 
means,  intentional  or  not,  Spain,  Portugal,  and  France, 
have  arisen  to  the  blessings  of  a  free  constitution ; 
superstition  has  found  her  grave  in  the  ruins  of  the 
Inquisition ;  and  the  feudal  system,  with  its  whole 
train  of  tyrannic  satellites,  has  fled  for  ever.  Kings 
may  learn  from  him  that  their  safest  study,  as  well  as 
their  noblest,  is  the  interest  of  the  people  ;  the  people 
are  taught  by  him  that  there  is  no  despotism  so  stupen- 
dous against  which  they  have  not  a  resource  ;  and  to 
those  who  would  rise  upon  the  ruins  of  both,  he  is  a  liv- 
ing  lesson,  that  if  ambition  can  raise  them  from  the  low- 
est station,  it  can  also  prostrate  them  from  the  highest. 

*  Sir  Humphrey  Dav}". 


PROSE-DECLAMATION.  257 


ORATORICAL  EXTRACTS. 


AGAINST  THE  CHARGE  OF  BRITISH  PREDILEC- 
TION.—Randolph.  (1811.) 

Agaixst  whom  are  these  charges  of  British  predilec- 
tion hroiight  ?  Against  men,  who.  in  the  war  of  the 
Revokition,  were  in  the  councils  of  the  nation,  or 
fighting  the  battles  of  your  country.  It  is  insuffera- 
ble :  it  cannot  be  borne.  It  must  and  ought,  with  se- 
verity to  be  put  down  in  this  house,  and  out  of  it  to 
meet  the  lie  direct  !  Strange,  that  we  should  have  no 
objection  to  any  other  people  or  government,  civilized 
or  savage,  in  the  whole  world  !  The  great  Autocrat 
of  all  the  Russias  receives  the  homage  of  our  high 
consideration.  The  Dey  of  Algiers  and  his  divan  of 
pirates,  are  very  civil  good  sort  of  people,  with  \\-hom 
we  find  no  difficulty  in  maintaining  the  relations  of 
peace  and  amity.  Tnrks,  Jews,  and  Infidels,  MeHm- 
elli  or  the  Little  Turtle  ;  barbarians  and  savages  of 
every  clime  and  every  color,  are  welcome  to  our  arms. 
With  chiefs  of  banditti,  negro  or  nmlatto,  we  can  treat 
and  can  trade.  Name,  however,  but  England^  and  all 
our  antipathies  are  up  in  arms  against  her.     Against 


258  PRACTICE  OF  ELOCUTION. 

whom  ?  Against  those  whose  blood  rims  in  our  veins  ; 
in  common  with  whom  we  claim  Shakspeare,  and 
Newton,  and  Chatham,  for  onr  countrymen ;  whose, 
form  of  government  is  the  freest  on  earth,  our  own 
only  excepted  ;  from  whom  every  valuable  principle  of 
our  own  institutions  has  been  borrowed— representa- 
tion— trial  by  jury — voting  the  supplies — writ  of 
habeas  corpus — our  whole  civil  and  criminal  juris- 
prudence ; — against  our  fellow-Protestants,  identified 
in  blood,  in  language,  in  religion  with  ourselves ! 
In  what  school  did  tlie  worthies  of  our  land,  the 
Washingtons,  Henrys,  Hancocks,  Franklins,  Rut- 
ledges  of  America,  learn  those  principles  of  civil  liber- 
ty, wliicli  were  so  nobly  asserted  by  their  wisdom  and 
their  valor  ?  American  resistance  to  British  usurpa- 
tion has  not  been  more  warmly  cherishsd  by  these 
great  men  and  their  compatriots — by  Washington, 
Hancock  and  Henry — than  by  Chatham,  and  his  il- 
lustrious associates  in  the  British  Parliament.  It 
ought  to  be  remembered,  too,  that  the  heart  of  the 
English  people  was  with  us  in  our  struggle.  It  was 
a  selfish  and  corrupt  ministry,  and  their  servile  tools, 
to  whom  we  were  not  more  opposed  than  they  vv^erc. 
I  trust  that  none  such  may  ever  exist  among  us  ;  for 
tools  will  never  be  wanting  to  subserve  the  purposes, 
however  ruinous  or  wicked,  of  kings  and  ministers  of 
state.  I  acknowledge  the  influence  of  a  Shakspeare 
and  a  Milton  upon  my  imagination,  of  a  Locke  upon 
my  understanding,  of  a  Sydney  upon  my  political 
principles,  of  a  Chatham  upon  qualities,  which,  would 
to  CJod,  I  possessed  in  common  with  that  illustrious 


PROSE-DECLAMATION.  259 

man  !  and  of  a  Tillotson,  a  Sherlock,  and  a  Por- 
leus,  upon  my  religious  principles  and  convictions. 
This  is  a  British  influence  which  1  can  never  shake 
off! 

THE   ADVANTAGES   OF    CLASSICAL   LEARNING. 

Story. 

The  importance  of  classical  learning  to  professional 
education  is  so  obvious,  that  the  surprise  is,  that  it 
could  ever  have  become  matter  of  disputation.  I 
speak  not  of  its  power  in  refining  the  taste,  in  disci- 
plining the  judgment,  in  invigorating  the  understand- 
ing, or  in  warming  the  heart  with  elevated  sentiments ; 
but  of  its  power  of  direct,  positive,  necessary  instruc- 
tion. Until  the  eighteenth  century,  the  mass  of  sci- 
ence, in  its  principal  brajiches,  was  deposited  in  the 
dead  languages,  and  much  of  it  still  reposes  there. 
To  be  ignorant  of  these  languages  is  to  shut  out  the 
lights  of  former  times,  or  to  examine  them  only 
through  the  glimmerings  of  inadequate  translations. 
What  should  we  say  of  the  jurist  who  never  aspired 
to  learn  the  maxims  of  law  and  equity  which  adorn 
the  Roman  codes  ?  What  of  the  physician  who  could 
deliberately  surrender  all  the  knowledge  heaped  up, 
for  so  many  centuries,  in  the  Latinity  of  continental 
Europe?  What  of  the  minister  of  religion  who 
should  choose  not  to  study  the  Scriptures  in  the  ori- 
ental tongue,  and  should  be  content  to  trust  his  faith 
and  his  hopes,  for  time  and  for  eternity,  to  the  dimness 
of  translations  which  may  reflect  the  literal  import, 


260  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

but  rarely  can  reflect,  with  unbroken  force,  the  beau- 
tiful spirit  of  the  text '?  Shall  he,  whose  vocation  it  is 
"  to  allure  to  brighter  worlds,  and  lead  the  way,"  be 
himself  the  blind  leader  of  the  blind  ?  Shall  he  pro- 
claim the  doctrines  of  salvation,  who  knows  not  and 
cares  not,  whether  he  preaches  an  idle  gloss  or  the 
genuine  text  of  revelation  ?  If  a  theologian  may  not 
pass  his  life  in  collating  the  various  readings,  he  may 
and  ought  to  aspire  to  that  criticism  which  illustrates 
religion  by  all  the  resources  of  human  learning — 
which  studies  the  mamiers  and  institutions  of  the  age 
and  country  in  which  Christianity  was  first  promul- 
gated— which  kindles  an  enthusiasm  for  its  precepts 
by  familiarity  with  the  persuasive  language  of  Him 
who  poured  out  his  blessings  on  the  innocent,  and  of 
Him  at  whose  impressive  appeal  Felix  trembled. 

I  pass  over  all  consideration  of  the  written  treasures 
of  antiquity  which  have  survived  the  wreck  of  em- 
pires and  dynasties — of  instrumental  trophies  and  tri- 
umphal arches — of  palaces  of  princes  and  temples  of 
the  gods.  I  pass  over  all  consideration  of  those  ad- 
mired compositions  in  which  wisdom  speaks  as  with 
a  voice  from  heaven  ;  of  those  sublime  eflbrts  of  poeti- 
cal genius,  which  still  freshen,  as  they  pass  from  age 
to  age,  with  undying  vigor  ;  of  those  finished  histories 
which  still  enlighten  and  instruct  governments  in 
their  duty  and  their  destiny  ;  of  those  matchless  ora- 
tions which  roused  nations  to  arms  and  chained  sen- 
ates to  the  chariot  wheels  of  all-conquering  eloquence. 
These  all  may  now  be  read  in  our  vernacular  tongue. 
Aye  ;  as  one  remembers  the  face  of  a  dead  friend,  by 


PROSE-DECLAMATIOX.  261 

gathering  up  the  broken  fragments  of  his  nnage  ;— as 
one  hstens  to  the  tale  of  a  dream  twice-told  ;— as  one 
catches  the  roar  of  the  ocean  in  the  ripple  of  a  rivu- 
let ;— as  one  sees  the  blaze  of  noon  in  the  first  glim- 
mer of  twilight. 

There  is  one  objection,  however,  on  which  I  would 
for  a  moment  dwell,  because  it  has  a  commanding  in- 
fluence over  many  minds,  and  is  clothed  with  a  spe- 
cious importance.  It  is  often  said,  that  there  have 
been  eminent  men  and  eminent  writers,  to  whom  the 
ancient  languages  were  unknown, — men  who  have 
risen  by  the  force  of  their  ov.' n  talents,  and  writers 
who  have  written  with  a  purity  and  ease  which  hold 
them  up  as  models  for  imitation.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  is  as  often  said,  that  scholars  do  not  always  com- 
pose either  with  ease  or  chasteness ;  that  their  diction 
is  sometimes  loose  and  harsh,  and  sometimes  ponder- 
ous and  affected.  Be  it  so  :  I  am  not  disposed  to  call 
in  question  the  accuracy  of  either  statement.  But  I 
v/ould,  nevertheless,  say  that  the  presence  of  classical 
learning  was  not  the  cause  of  the  faults  of  the  one 
class,  nor  the  absence  of  it  the  cause  of  the  excellence 
of  the  other.  And  I  would  put  this  fact,  as  an  answer 
to  all  such  reasonings,  that  there  is  not  a  single  lan- 
guage of  modern  Europe,  in  which  literature  has  made 
any  considerable  advances,  which  is  not  directly  of 
Roman  origin,  or  has  not  incorporated  into  its  very 
structure  many,  very  many,  of  the  idioms  and  peculi- 
arities of  the  ancient  tongues.  The  English  language 
affords  a  strong  illustration  of  the  truth  of  this  remark : 
it  abounds  with  words  and  meanings  drawn  from  clas- 


2G2  PRACTICE    OF    KLOCUTIOX. 

sical  sources.  Innumevable  phrases  retain  the  sym- 
metry of  their  ancient  dress.  Innumerable  expressions 
have  received  their  vivid  tints  from  the  beautiful  dyes 
of  Roman  and  Grecian  roots.  If  scholars,  therefore, 
do  not  write  our  language  with  ease,  or  piu-ity,  or  ele- 
gance, the  cause  must  lie  somewhat  deeper  than  a 
conjectural  ignorance  of  its  true  diction. 

There  is  not  a  single  nation,  from  the  north  to  the 
south  of  Europe— from  the  bleak  shores  of  the  Baltic 
to  the  bright  plains  of  immortal  Italy — whose  litera- 
ture is  not  imbedded  in  the  very  elements  of  classical 
learning.  The  literature  of  England  is,  in  an  em- 
phatic sense,  the  production  of  her  scholars— of  men 
who  have  cultivated  letters  in  her  universities,  and 
colleges,  and  grammar  schools— of  men  who  thought 
any  life  too  short,  chiefly  because  it  left  some  relic  of 
antiquity  unmastered,  and  any  other  fame  humble, 
because  it  faded  in  the  presence  of  Roman  and 
Grecian  genius.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  declare,  that 
he  who  proposes  to  abolish  classical  studies,  proposes 
to  render,  in  a  great  measure,  inert  and  unedifying 
the  mass  of  English  literature  for  three  centuries  ;  to 
rob  us  of  much  of  the  glory  of  the  past,  and  much  of 
the  instruction  of  future  ages  ;  to  blind  us  to  excel- 
lences which  few  may  hope  to  equal  and  none  to  sur- 
pass ;  to  annihilate  associations  which  are  interwoven 
with  our  best  sentiments,  and  give  to  distant  times 
and  countries  a  presence  and  reality,  as  if  they  were, 
in  fact,  our  own. 


PROSE-DECLAMATION.  263 

EXTRACT  FROM  EMMET'S  SPEECH  BEFORE  SEN- 
TENCE OF  DEATH  BEING  PASSED  ON  HIM. 

My  Lords, — 

What  have  I  to  say,  why  sentence  of  death  should 
not  be  pronounced  on  me,  according  to  law  ? — I  have 
nothing  to  say  that  can  alter  your  predetermination, 
nor  that  it  will  become  me  to  say,  with  any  view  to 
the  mitigation  of  that  sentence  which  you  are  here  to 
pronounce,  and  I  must  abide  by.  But  I  have  that  to 
say,  which  interests  me  more  than  life,  and  which 
you  have  labored,  (as  was  necessarily  yoin-  office  in 
the  present  circumstances  of  this  oppressed  country,) 
to  destroJ^  I  have  much  to  say,  why  my  reputation 
should  be  rescued  from  the  load  of  false  accusation 
and  calumny  which  has  been  heaped  upon  it.  I  do 
not  imagine  that,  seated  where  3'ou  are,  your  minds 
can  be  so  free  from  impurity,  as  to  receive  the  least 
impression  from  what  I  am  going  to  utter.  I  have  no 
hopes  that  I  can  anchor  my  character  in  the  breast  of 
a  Court  constituted  and  trammelled  as  this  is. — I  only 
wish,  and  it  is  the  utmost  I  expect,  that  your  lordships 
may  suffer  it  to  float  down  your  memories  untainted 
by  the  foul  breath  of  prejudice,  until  it  find  some  more 
hospitable  harbor  to  shelter  it  from  the  storm  by 
which  it  is  at  present  buffeted. 

Were  I  only  to  suffer  death,  after  being  adjudged 
guilty  by  your  tribunal,  I  should  bow  in  silence,  and 
meet  the  fate  that  awaits  me  witliout  a  murmur:  but 
the  sentence  of  law  which  delivers  my  body  to  the 
executioner,  will,  through  the  ministry  of  that  law, 


264  PRACTICE   OF  EL0CUT1L;N. 

labor,  in  its  own  vindicationj  to  consign  my  character 
to  obloquy — for  there  must  be  guilt  somewhere : 
whether  in  the  sentence  of  the  Court,  or  in  the  catas- 
trophe, posterity  must  determine.  A  man  in  my  situ- 
ation, my  lords,  has  not  only  to  encounter  the  difficul- 
ties of  fortune,  and  the  force  of  power  over  minds 
which  it  has  corrupted  or  subjugated,  but  the  difficul- 
ties of  established  prejudice.  The  man  dies,  but  his 
memory  lives.  That  mine  may  not  perish,  that  it 
may  live  in  the  respect  of  my  countrymen,  I  seize 
upon  this  opportunity  to  vindicate  myself  from  some 
of  the  charges  alleged  against  me.  When  my  spirit 
shall  be  wafted  to  a  more  friendly  port ;  when  my  shade 
shall  have  joined  the  bands  of  those  martyred  heroes 
who  have  shed  their  blood  on  the  scaffold  and  in  the 
field,  in  defence  of  their  country  and  virtue,  this  is  my 
hope, — I  wish  that  my  memory  and  name  may  ani- 
mate those  who  survive  me,  while  I  look  down  with 
complacency  on  the  destruction  of  that  perfidious 
government,  which  upholds  its  domination  by  blas- 
phemy of  the  Most  High — which  displays  its  power 
over  man  as  over  the  beasts  of  the  forest — -which  sets 
man  upon  his  brother,  and  lifts  his  hand,  in  the  name 
of  God,  against  the  throat  of  his  fellow  who  believes 
or  doubts  a  little  more  or  less  than  the  government 
standard — a  government  which  is  steeled  to  barbarity 
by  the  cries  of  the  orphans  and  the  tears  of  the 
widows  which  its  cruelty  has  made. 

I  swear  by  the  throne  of  Heaven,  before  which  I 
must  shortly  appear — by  the  blood  of  the  murdered 
patriots  who  have  gone  before  me — that  my  conduct 


PROSE-DECLAMATION.  265 

has  been,  through  all  this  peril,  and  all  my  purposes, 
governed  only  by  the  convictions  which  I  have  utter- 
ed, and  by  no  other  view  than  that  of  the  emancipa- 
tion of  my  country  from  the  superinhuman  oppression 
under  which  she  has  so  long,  and  too  patiently,  tra- 
vailed ;  and  that  I  confidently  and  assuredly  hope, 
(wild  and  chimerical  as  it  may  appear.)  there  is  still 
union  and  strength  in  Ireland  to  accomplish  this  noble 
enterprise. 

Let  no  man  dare,  when  I  am  dead,  to  charge  me 
with  dishonor  ;  let  no  man  attaint  my  memory  by  be- 
lieving that  I  could  have  engaged  in  any  cause  but 
that  of  my  country's  liberty  and  independence  ;  or  that 
I  could  have  become  the  pliant  minion  of  power,  in 
the  oppression  or  the  miseries  of  my  countrymen. 
The  proclamation  of  the  provisional  government 
speaks  for  our  views ;  no  inference  can  be  tortured 
from  it  to  countenance  barbarity  or  debasement  at 
home,  or  subjection,  humiliation,  or  treachery  from 
abroad.  I  would  not  have  submitted  to  a  foreign  op- 
pressor, for  the  same  reason  that  I  would  resist  the 
domestic  tyrant ;  in  the  dignity  of  freedom,  I  would 
have  fought  upon  the  threshold  of  my  country,  and 
her  enemy  should  enter  only  by  passing  over  my  life- 
less corpse.  Am  I,  who  lived  but  for  my  country,  and 
who  have  subjected  myself  to  the  vengeance  of  the 
jealous  and  watchful  oppressor,  and  to  the  bondage  of 
the  grave,  only  to  give  my  countrymen  their  rights, — 
am  I  to  be  loaded  with  calumny,  and  not  to  be  suffer- 
ed to  resent  or  repel  it  ?     No, — God  forbid  ! 

If  the  spirits  of  the  illustrious  dead  participate  in 

M 


266  PRACTICE  OF  ELOCUTION. 

the  concerns  and  cares  of  those  who  are  dear  to  them  in 
this  transitory  Ufe, — O  ever  dear  and  venerated  shade 
of  my  departed  father,  look  down  with  scrutiny  on  the 
conduct  of  your  suffering  son  ;  and  see  if  I  have  even 
for  a  moment  deviated  from  those  principles  of  moral- 
ity and  patriotism  which  it  was  your  care  to  instil  into 
my  youthful  mind, — and  for  an  adherence  to  which  I 
am  now  to  offer  up  my  life  ! 

My  lords,  you  are  impatient  for  the  sacrifice — the 
blood  which  you  seek,  is  not  congealed  by  the  artifi- 
cial terrors  which  surround  your  victim  :  it  circulates 
warmly  and  unruffled,  through  the  channels  which 
God  created  for  noble  purposes,  but  which  you  are 
bent  to  destroy,  for  purposes  so  grievous  that  they  cry 
to  heaven  ! — Be  yet  patient !  1  have  but  a  few  words 
more  to  say, — I  am  going  to  my  silent  grave  :  my 
lamp  of  life  is  nearly  extinguished  :  my  race  is  run  : 
the  grave  opens  to  receive  me,  and  1  sink  into  its  bo- 
som.— I  have  but  one  request  to  ask  at  my  departure 
from  this  world, — it  is  the  charity  of  its  silence.  Let 
no  man  write  my  epitaph  :  for,  as  no  one  who  knows 
my  motives  dare  71010  vindicate  them,  let  not  preju- 
dice or  ignorance  asperse  them.  Let  them  and  me 
repose  in  obscurity  and  peace,  and  my  tomb  remain 
uninscribed, — until  other  times,  and  other  men,  can 
do  justice  to  my  character.  When  my  country  shall 
take  her  place  among  the  nations  of  the  earth,  then, 
and  not  till  then,  let  my  epitaph  be  written  ! 


PROSE-DECLAMATION.  267 

IN  FAVOR  OF  THE   GREEK   REVOLUTION.— Clay. 

And  has  it  come  to  this  ?  Are  we  so  humbled,  so 
low,  so  debased,  that  we  dare  not  express  our  sym- 
pathy for  suffering  Greece, — that  we  dare  not  articu- 
late our  detestation  of  the  brutal  excesses  of  which 
she  has  been  the  bleeding  victim,  lest  we  might  offend 
some  one  or  more  of  their  imperial  and  royal  majes- 
ties ?  If  gentlemen  are  afraid  to  act  rashly  on  such 
a  subject,  suppose,  Mr.  Chairman,  that  we  unite  in  an 
humble  petition,  addressed  to  their  majesties,  beseech- 
ing them,  that  of  their  gracious  condescension,  they 
would  allow  us  to  express  our  feelings  and  our  sym- 
pathies. How  shall  it  run  ?  "  We,  the  representa- 
tives of  the  FREE  people  of  the  United  States  of  Ame- 
rica, humbly  approach  the  thrones  of  your  imperial 
and  royal  majesties,  and  supplicate  that,  of  your  im- 
perial and  royal  clemency," — I  cannot  go  through  the 
disgusting  recital — my  lips  have  not  yet  learned  to 
pronounce  the  sycophantic  language  of  a  degraded 
slave  !  Are  we  so  mean,  so  base,  so  despicable,  that 
we  may  not  attempt  to  express  our  horror,  utter  our 
indignation,  at  the  most  brutal  and  atrocious  war  that 
ever  stained  earth  or  shocked  high  heaven?  at  the 
ferocious  deeds  of  a  savage  and  infuriated  soldiery, 
stimulated  and  urged  on  by  the  clergy  of  a  fanatical 
and  inimical  religion,  and  rioting  in  all  the  excesses 
of  blood  and  butchery,  at  the  mere  details  of  which 
the  heart  sickens  and  recoils  ! 

If  the  great  body  of  Christendom  can  look  on  calm- 
ly  and   coolly,   whilst  all   this  is  perpetrated  on  a 


26S  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCCTIOJT. 

Christian  people,  in  its  own  immediate  vicinity,  in  its 
very  presence,  let  us  at  least  evince  that  one  of  its  re- 
mote extremities  is  susceptible  of  sensibility  to  Chris- 
tian wrongs,  and  capable  of  sympathy  for  Christian 
sufferings ;  that  in  this  remote  cpiarter  of  the  world, 
there  are  hearts  not  yet  closed  against  compassion  for 
human  woes,  that  can  pour  out  their  indignant  feel- 
ings at  the  oppression  of  a  people  endeared  to  us  by 
every  ancient  recollection,  and  every  modern  tie.  Sir, 
the  committee  has  been  attempted  to  be  alarmed  by 
the  dangers  to  our  commerce  in  the  Mediterranean  ; 
and  a  wretched  invoice  of  figs  and  opium  has  been 
spread  before  us  to  repress  our  sensibilities  and  to 
eradicate  our  humanity.  Ah  !  sir,  "  what  shall  it 
profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  his 
own  soul  ?" — or  Avhat  shall  it  avail  a  nation  to  save 
the  whole  of  a  miserable  trade,  and  lose  its  liberties  ? 


SPEECH  OF  CHATHAM,  (THEN  MR.  PITT,)  ON 
BEING  TAUNTED  WITH  HIS  YOUTH, 

In  reply  to  Mr.  Walpole  the  minister,  (1740.)  Aviio  had  ridiculed 
the  youth  of  Pitt  and  the  florid  style  of  his  oratory. 

Sir,— 

The  atrocious  crime  of  being  a  young  man,  which 
the  honorable  gentleman  has,  M'ith  such  spirit  and  de- 
cency, charged  upon  me,  1  shall  neither  attempt  to 
palliate  nor  deny  ;  but  content  myself  with  wishing 
that  T  may  be  one  of  those  whose  follies  may  cease 
with  their  youth,  and  not  of  that  number  who  are  ig- 
norant in  spite  of  experience.     Whether  youth  can  be 


PROSE-DECLAMATION.  269 

imputed  to  any  man  as  a  reproach,  I  will  not,  sir,  as- 
sume the  province  of  determining ;  but  surely  age 
may  become  justly  contemptible,  if  the  opportunities 
which  it  brings  have  passed  away  without  improve- 
ment, and  vice  appear  to  prevail  when  the  passions 
have  subsided.  The  wretch  who,  after  having  seen 
the  consequences  of  a  thousand  errors,  continues  still 
to  blunder,  and  whose  age  has  only  added  obstinacy 
to  stupidity,  is  surely  the  object  either  of  abhorrence, 
or  contempt,  and  deserves  not  that  his  gray  hairs 
should  secure  him  from  insult.  Much  more,  sir,  is  he 
to  be  abhorred  who,  as  he  has  advanced  in  age,  has 
receded  from  virtue,  and  become  more  wicked  with 
less  temptation  ;  who  prostitutes  himself  for  money 
which  he  cannot  enjoy,  and  spends  the  remains  of  his 
life  in  the  ruin  of  his  country. 

But  youth,  sir,  is  not  my  only  crime  ;  I  have  been 
accused  of  acting  a  theatrical  part.  A  theatrical  part 
may  either  imply  some  peculiarities  of  gesture,  or  a 
dissimulation  of  my  real  sentiments,  and  an  adoption 
of  the  opinions  and  language  of  another  man. 

In  the  first  sense,  sir,  the  charge  is  too  trifling  to  be 
confuted,  and  deserves  only  to  be  mentioned  that  it 
may  be  despised.  I  am  at  liberty,  like  every  other 
man,  to  use  my  own  language  ;  and  though,  perhaps, 
I  may  have  some  ambition  to  please  this  gentleman,  I 
shall  not  lay  myself  under  any  restraint,  nor  very  so- 
licitously copy  his  diction  or  his  mien,  however  ma- 
tured by  age,  or  modelled  by  experience.  But  if  any 
man  shall,  by  charging  me  with  theatrical  behaviour, 
imply  that  I  utter  any  sentiments  but  my  own,  I  shall 


270  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTIO^f. 

treat  him  as  a  calumniator  and  a  villain  ;  nor  shall 
any  protection  shelter  him  from  the  treatment  he  de- 
serves. I  shall,  on  such  an  occasion,  without  scruple, 
trample  upon  all  those  forms  v>ith  wliich  wealth  and 
dignity  intrench  themselves  ;  nor  shall  anything,  but 
age,  restrain  my  resentment, — age,  which  always 
brings  one  privilege,  that  of  being  insolent  and  super- 
cilious without  punishment. 

But  with  regard,  sir,  to  those  wliom  I  have  oifend- 
ed,  I  am  of  opinion  that  if  I  liad  acted  a  borrowed 
part,  I  should  have  avoided  their  censure :  the  heat 
that  offended  them  is  the  ardor  of  conviction,  and  that 
zeal  for  the  service  of  my  countrj-  which  neither  hope 
nor  fear  shall  influence  me  to  suppress.  I  will  not  sit 
unconcerned  while  my  liberty-  is  invaded,  nor  look  in 
silence  upon  pubhc  robbery.  I  will  exert  my  endea- 
vorS;  at  whatever  hazard,  to  repel  the  aggressor,  and 
drag  the  thief  to  justice,  wlioever  may  protect  him  in 
his  villany,  and  whoever  may  partake  of  his  plunder. 

INFLUENCE  OF  THE  CHARACTER  OF  WASH- 
INGTON.—Webster. 

America  has  furnished  to  the  world  the  character 
of  Washington  !  And  if  our  American  institutions 
had  done  nothing  else,  tliat  alone  would  have  entitled 
them  to  the  respect  of  mankind. 

Washington  ! — "  First  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and 
first  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  !" — AVashington 
is  all  our  own  !  The  enthusiastic  veneration  and  re- 
gard in  which  the  people  of  the  United  States  hold 


PROSE-DECLAMATION.  271 

him,  prove  them  to  be  worthy  of  such  a  countryman  ; 
\.'hile  his  reputation  abroad  reflects  the  highest  honor 
on  his  country  and  its  institutions.  I  would  cheer- 
fully put  the  question  to-day  to  the  intelligence  of  Eu- 
rope and  the  world,  what  character  of  the  century, 
upon  the  whole,  stands  out  in  the  relief  of  history, 
most  pure,  most  respectable,  most  sublime  ;  and  I 
doubt  not.  that,  by  a  suffrage  approaching  to  unani- 
mity, the  answer  would  be  Washington  ! 

This  structure,*  by  its  uprightness,  its  solidity,  its 
durability,  is  no  unfit  emblem  of  his  character.  His 
public  virtues  and  public  principles  were  as  firm  as 
t!ie  earth  on  which  it  stands ;  his  personal  motives  as 
pure  as  the  serene  heaven  in  which  its  summit  is  lost. 
But,  indeed,  though  a  fit,  it  is  an  inadequate  emblem. 
Towering  high  above  the  column  v^^hich  our  hands 
have  builded,  beheld,  not  by  the  inhabitants  of  a  single 
city,  or  a  single  State, — ascends  the  colossal  grandeur 
of  his  character,  and  his  life.  In  all  the  constituents 
of  the  one, — in  all  the  acts  of  the  other, — in  all  its 
titles  to  immortal  love,  admiration,  and  renown, — it  is 
an  American  production.  It  is  the  embodiment  and 
vindication  of  our  transatlantic  liberty.  Born  upon 
our  soil, — of  parents  also  born  upon  it, — never  for  a 
moment  having  had  a  sight  of  the  old  world, — in- 
structed, according  to  the  modes  of  his  time,  only  in 
the  spare,  plain,  but  wholesome  elementary  knowledge 
which  our  institutions  provide  for  the  children  of  the 
people, — growing  up  beneath  and  penetrated  by  the 

*  Bunker-Hill  Monument. 


272  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

genuine  influences  of  American  society, — growing  up 
amidst  our  expanding,  but  not  luxurious,  civilization, 
— partaking  in  our  great  destiny  of  labor,  our  long 
contest  "^vith  unreclaimed  nature  and  uncivilized  man, 
— our  agony  of  glory,  the  war  of  independence, — our 
great  victory  of  peace,  the  formation  of  the  Union  and 
the  establishment  of  the  Constitution, — he  is  all,  all 
our  own  !     That  crowded  and  glorious  life, — 

Where  multitudes  of  virtues  pass  along, 
Each  pressing  foremost,  in  the  mighty  throng 
Contending  to  be  seen,  then  making  room 
For  greater  multitudes  that  were  to  come ; 

that  life  was  the  life  of  an  American  citizen. 

I  claim  him  for  America.  In  all  the  perils,  in  every 
darkened  moment  of  the  state,  in  the  midst  of  the  re- 
proaches of  enemies  and  the  misgiving  of  friends, — I 
turn  to  that  transcendent  name  for  courage  and  for 
consolation.  To  him  who  denies,  or  doubts,  whether 
our  fervid  liberty  can  be  combined  with  law,  with 
order,  with  the  security  of  property,  with  the  pursuit 
and  advancement  of  happiness, — to  him  who  denies 
tiiat  our  institutions  are  capable  of  producing  exalta- 
tion of  soul,  and  the  passion  of  true  glory, — to  him 
who  denies  that  we  have  contributed  anything  to  the 
stock  of  great  lessons  and  great  examples, — to  all 
these  I  reply  by  pointing  to  Washington  ! 


PROSE-DECLAMATION.  273 


AGAINST  PAINE^S  AGE  OF  REASON.  -Erskine. 

But  it  seems  this  is  an  Age  of  Reason,  and  tlie 
time,  and  the  person,  are  at  last  arrived,  that  are  to 
dissipate  the  errors  which  have  overspread  the  past 
generations  of  ignorance.  The  behevers  in  Christi- 
anity are  many,  but  it  belongs  to  the  few  that  are 
wise  to  correct  their  credulity.  Belief  is  an  act  of 
reason,  and  superior  reason  may,  therefore,  dictate  to 
the  weak.  In  rmming  the  mind  along  the  long  list  of 
sincere  and  devout  Christians,  I  cannot  help  lament- 
ing that  Newton  had  not  lived  to  this  day,  to  have 
had  his  shalloivness  filled  up  with  this  new  flood  of 
light. 

But  the  subject  is  too  awful  for  irony. — I  will  speak 
plainly  and  directly.  Newton  was  a  Christian  !  New- 
ton, whose  mind  burst  forth  from  the  fetters  fastened 
by  Nature  upon  our  finite  conceptions — Newton, 
whose  science  was  truth,  and  the  foundation  of  whose 
knowledge  of  it  was  philosopliy — not  those  visionary 
and  arrogant  presumptions  which  too  often  usurp  its 
name,  but  philosophy  resting  on  the  basis  of  mathe- 
matics, which,  like  figures,  cannot  lie — Newton,  who 
carried  the  line  and  rule  to  the  uttermost  barriers  of 
creation,  and  explored  the  principles  by  which  all 
created  matter  exists  and  is  held  together. 

*  The  irony  with  wliich  Erskine  ridicules  Paine's  preten- 
sions to  superior  wisdom,  in  this  speech,  must  be  distinctly 
marked.  This  extract  is  therefore  a  good  practice  on  compound 
inflection.     (See  Compound  Inflections.) 


274  PRACTICE   OF  ELOCUTION. 

But  this  extraordinary  man,  in  the  mighty  reach  of 
his  mind,  overlooked,  perhaps,  the  errors,  which  a 
minuter  investigation  of  the  created  things  on  this 
earth  might  have  taught  him.  What,  then,  shall  be 
said  of  the  great  Mr.  Boyle, — who  looked  into  the  or- 
ganic structure  of  all  matter,  even  to  the  inanimate 
substances  which  the  foot  treads  upon  ? — Such  a  man 
may  be  supposed  to  have  been  equally  qualified  with 
Mr.  Paine,  to  look  up  through  Nature  to  Nature's 
God  !  Yet  the  result  of  all  his  contemplations  was 
the  most  confirmed  and  devout  belief  in  all  which  the 
other  holds  in  contempt,  as  despicable  and  drivelling 
superstition. 

But  this  error  might,  perhaps,  arise  from  a  want  of 
due  attention  to  the  foundations  of  human  judgment, 
and  the  structure  of  that  understanding  which  God 
has  given  us  for  the  investigation  of  truth. — Let  that 
question  be  answered  by  Mr.  Locke,  who,  to  the  high- 
est pitch  of  devotion  and  adoration,  was  a  Christian  ! 
— Mr.  Locke,  whose  office  it  was  to  detect  the  errors 
of  thinking,  by  going  up  to  the  very  fountain  of 
thought ;  and  to  direct  into  the  proper  tract  of  reason- 
ing, the  devious  mind  of  man,  by  showing  him  its 
whole  process,  from  the  first  perceptions  of  sense,  to 
the  last  conclusions  of  ratiocination  : — putting  a  rein 
upon  false  opinion,  by  practical  rules  for  the  conduct 
of  human  judgment. 

But  these  men,  it  may  be  said,  were  only  deep 
thinkers,  and  lived  in  their  closets,  unaccustomed  to 
the  traffic  of  the  world,  and  to  the  laws  which  prac- 
tically regulate  mankind. — Gentlemen  !  in   the  place 


PROSB-DECLAMATION.  275 

where  we  now  sit  to  administer  the  justice  of  this 
great  country,  the  never-to-be-forgotten  Sir  Matthew 
Hale  presided  ; — whose  faith  in  Christianity  is  an  ex- 
ahed  commentary  upon  its  truth  and  reason,  and 
whose  Ufe  was  a  glorious  example  of  its  fruits  : — whose 
justice,  drawn  from  the  pure  fountain  of  the  Christian 
dispensation,  will  be,  in  all  ages,  a  subject  of  the 
highest  reverence  and  admiration. 

But  it  is  said  by  the  author,  that  the  Christian /a6Ze 
is  but  the  tale  of  the  more  ancient  superstitions  of  the 
world,  and  may  be  easily  detected  by  a  proper  under- 
standing of  the  mythologies  of  the  Heathens. — Did 
Milton  understand  those  mythologies  ? — was  he  less 
versed  than  Mr.  Paine  in  the  superstitions  of  the 
world  ?  No, — they  were  the  subject  of  his  immortal 
song  ;  and  though  shut  out  from  all  recurrence  to 
them,  he  poured  them  forth  from  the  stores  of  a  me- 
mory rich  with  all  that  man  ever  knew,  and  laid 
them  in  their  order  as  the  illustration  of  real  and  ex- 
alted faith  ; — the  unquestionable  som'ce  of  that  fervid 
genius  which  has  cast  a  kind  of  shade  upon  all  the 
other  works  of  man. 

He  pass'd  the  bounds  of  flaming  space, 
Where  angels  tremble  wliile  they  gaze — 
He  saw — till  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 
He  closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night ! 

But  it  was  the  light  of  the  body  only,  that  was  ex- 
tinguished ;  "  the  celestial  light  shone  inward,  and 
enabled  him  to  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man." — ■ 
The  result  of  his  thinking  was,  nevertheless,  not  quite 
the  same  as  that  of  the  aiuhor  before  us.     The  mys- 


276  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

terious  incarnation  of  our  blessed  Saviour,  (which  this 
work  blasphemes,  in  words  so  wholly  unfit  for  the 
mouth  of  a  Christian,  and  the  ears  of  a  court  of  jus- 
tice, that  I  dare  not,  and  will  not  give  them  utterance,) 
Milton  made  the  grand  conclusion  of  his  Paradise 
Lost,  the  rest  from  his  finished  labors,  and  the  ulti- 
mate hope,  expectation,  and  glory  of  the  world. 

A  virgin  is  his  mother,  but  his  sire, 

The  power  of  the  Most  High  ; — he  shall  ascend 

The  throne  hereditary,  and  bound  his  reign 

With  earth's  wide  bounds,  his  glory  with  the  heavens  ! 

Thus  you  find  all  that  is  great,  or  wise,  or  splendid, 
or  illustrious,  amongst  created  beings — all  the  minds 
gifted  beyond  ordinary  nature,  if  not  inspired  by  its 
universal  AiUhor,  for  the  advancement  and  dignity  of 
the  world, — tliough  divided  by  distant  ages,  and  by 
clashing  opinions,  yet  joining,  as  it  were,  in  one  sub- 
lime chorus,  to  celebrate  the  truths  of  Christianity, 
and  laying  upon  its  holy  altars  the  never-fading  offer- 
ings of  their  immortal  wisdom. 


fOETICAL   RECITATIONS.  277 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETICAL  EXTRACTS. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  POESY.— Gray. 

A  PINDARIC    ODE. 
I. 

Awake,  ^olian  IjTe.  awake, 
And  give  to  rapture  all  thy  trembling  strings  ! 
From  Helicon's  harmonious  springs, 

A  thousand  rills  their  mazy  progress  take ; 
The  laughing  flowers  that  round  them  blow 
Drink  life  and  Iragrance  as  they  flow. 
Now  the  rich  stream  of  music  winds  along, 
Deep,  majestic,  smooth,  and  strong, 
Through  verdant  vales  and  Ceres'  golden  reign : 
Now  rushing  down  the  steep  amain. 
Headlong,  impetuous  see  it  pour ; 
The  rocks  and  nodding  groves  rebellow  to  the  roar! 

Oh  !  sovereign  of  the  willing  soul, 
Parent  of  sweet  and  solemn-breathing  airs, 
Enchanting  shell !  the  sullen  cares 

And  frantic  passions  hear  thy  soft  control. 
On  Thracia'e  hills  the  lord  of  war 
Has  curb'd  the  fury  of  his  car. 
And  dropp'd  his  thirsty  lance  at  thy  command : 
Perching  on  the  scepter'd  hand 


278  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Of  Jove,  thy  magic  lulls  the  feather'd  king 
With  ruffled  plumes  and  flagging  wing : 
Q,uench'd  in  dark  clouds  of  slumber,  lie 
The  terror  of  his  beak,  and  lightning  of  his  eye. 

Thee  the  voice,  the  dance  obey, 

Temper'd  to  thy  warbled  lay ; 
O'er  Idalia's  velvet  green 
The  rosy-crowned  loves  are  seen 

On  Cytherea's  day, 
With  antic  sports  and  blue-ey'd  pleasures 
Frisking  light  in  frohc  measures  : 
Now  pursuing,  now  retreating, 
Now  in  circling  troops  they  meet ; 
To  brisk  notes,  in  cadence  beating. 
Glance  their  many-twinkling  feet. 
Slow,  melting  strains  their  dueen's  approach  declare ; 
Where'er  she  turns  the  graces  homage  pay, 
With  arts  sublime,  that  float  upon  the  air ; 
In  gliding  state  she  wins  her  easy  way : 
O'er  her  warm  cheek  and  rising  bosom,  move 
The  bloom  of  young  Desire,  and  purple  Ught  of  Love. 


II. 

Man's  feeble  race  what  ills  await, — 
Labor,  and  Penury,  the  racks  of  Pain, 
Disease,  and  Sorrow's  weeping  train. 

And  Death,  sad  refuge  from  the  storms  of  Fate ! 
The  fond  complaint,  my  song,  disprove, 
And  justify  the  laws  of  Jove. 
Say.  has  lie  giv'n  in  vain  the  heav'nly  Muse  7 
Night,  and  all  her  sickly  dews. 
Her  spectres  wan,  and  birds  of  boding  cry, 
He  gives  to  range  the  dreary  sky : 
Till  down  the  eastern  cliffs  afar, 
Hyperion's  march  they  spy,  and  glittering  shafts  of  war. 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  279 

In  climes  beyond  the  solar  road, 
Wliere  shaggy  forms  o^er  ice-built  mountains  roam, 
The  Muse  has  broke  the  twilight  gloom, 

To  cheer  the  natives'  dull  abode. 
And  oft,  beneath  the  odorous  shade 
Of  Chili's  boundless  forests  laid. 
She  deigns  to  hear  the  savage  youth  repeat. 
In  loose  numbers  wildly  sweet, 
Their  feather-cinctur'd  chiefs,  and  dusky  loves. 
Her  track,  where'er  the  Goddess  roves. 
Glory  pursues,  and  generous  shame, 
Th'  unconquerable  mind,  and  Freedom's  holy  flame. 

Woods  that  wave  o'er  Delphi's  steep, 

Isles  that  crown  the  jEgean  deep. 
Fields,  that  cool  Ilissus  laves, 
Or  where  Mseander's  amber  waves 

In  lingering  labyrinths  creep, 
How  do  your  tuneful  echoes  languisli, 
Mute,  but  to  the  voice  of  Anguish  ? 
Where  each  old  poetic  mountain 

Inspiration  breath'd  around. 
Every  shade  and  hallow'd  fountain 

Murmur'd  deep  a  solemn  sound : 
Till  the  sad  Nine,  in  Greece's  evil  hour, 

Left  their  Parnassus  for  the  Latin  plains, 
Alike  they  scorn  the  pomp  of  tyrant  Power, 

And  coward  Vice,  that  revels  in  her  chains  ; 
When  Latium  had  hei  lofty  spirit  lost. 
They  sought,  O  Albion  !  next  thy  sea-encircled  coast. 


III. 

Far  from  the  sun  and  summer-gale 
In  thy  green  lap  was  Nature's  darling*  laid, 

*  Shakspeare. 


280  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

What  time,  where  lueid  Avon  stray'd. 

To  him  the  mighty  mother  did  unveil 
Her  awful  face  ;  the  davmtless  child 
Stretch'd  forth  his  Uttle  arms  and  smil'd. 
"  This  pencil  take,"  she  said,  "  whose  colors  clear 
Richly  paint  the  vernal  j^car : 
Thine,  too,  these  golden  keys,  immortal  boy  1 
This  can  unlock  the  gates  of  joy  ; 
Of  horror  that,  and  thrilling  fears, 
Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  tears." 

Nor  second  he,*  that  rode  sublime 

Upon  the  seraph-wings  of  ecstacy, 

The  secrets  of  th'  abyss  to  spy. 
He  pass'd  the  flaming  bounds  of  place  and  time ; 
The  living  throne,  the  sapphire-blaze, 
Wliere  angels  tremble  while  they  gaze, 
He  saw ;  but  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night ! 

Behold  where  Dryden's  less  presumptuous  car 

Wide  o'er  the  fields  of  glory  bear 

Two  coursers  of  ethereal  race, 

Their  necks  in  thunder  cloth'd.  and  long-resoimding  pace.f 

Hark,  his  hands  the  lyre  explore  ! 

Bright-eyed  fancy  hov'ring  o'er, 

Scatters  from  her  pictur'd  urn, 

Thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that  burn ! 

But  ah  !  'tis  heard  no  more — 

Oh  lyre  divine  !  what  daring  spirit 

Wakes  thee  now  !  though  he  inherit 

Nor  the  pride,  nor  ample  pinion 

That  the  Theban  eagle  bear. 
Sailing  with  supreme  dominion 

Through  the  azure  deep  of  air; 

*  Milton. 

t  Expressive  of  the  majestic  sound  of  Dryden's  verse. 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  281 

Yet  ofl  before  his  infant  eyes  would  run 

Such  forms  as  gUtter  in  the  Muse's  ray, 
With  orient  hues  unborrow'd  of  the  sun : 

Yet  shall  he  mount,  and  keep  Ms  distant  way 
Beyond  the  limits  of  a  vulgar  fate, — 
Beneath  the  good  how  far — but  far  above  the  great. 


THANATOPSIS.— Bryant. 

To  him  Avho,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language.     For  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty ;  and  she  glides 
Ir^.o  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 
And  gentle  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.     When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  tl\e  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall. 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder  and  grow  sick  at  heart, — 
Go  forth  unto  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  -all  around — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air — 
Comes  a  still  voice 

Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course.     Nor  yet  in  the  cold  grovand. 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image.     Earth,  that  novirished  thee,  sliall  claim 
Thy  growth,  and  be  resolv'd  to  earth  again ; 
And,  lost  each  h\iman  trace,  surrendering  up 


282  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 

To  mix  for  ever  with  the  elements ; 

To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock, 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  wliich  the  rude  swain 

Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 

Shall  send  his  roots  abroad  and  pierce  thy  mould. 

Yet  not  to  thy  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone ;  nor  could'st  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world — with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth — the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre  !     The  hills 
Rock-ribb'd  and  ancient  as  the  sun  ;  the  vales. 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between ; 
The  venerable  woods ;  rivers  that  move 
In  majesty;  and  the  complaining  brooks. 
That  make  the  meadow  green  ;  and,  pour'd  round  all 
Old  Ocean's  grey  and  melancholy  waste, — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun. 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heav'n, 
Are  shining  as  the  sad  abodes  of  death. 
Thro'  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce ; 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Whore  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound. 
Save  of  his  own  dashings ;  yet, — the  dead  are  there ; 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep — the  dead  reign  there  alone ! 

So  shalt  thou  rest !     And  what  if  thou  shalt  fall 
Unnotic'd  by  the  living,  and  no  friend 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS,  283 

Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?     All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destinj''.     The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one,  us  before,  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come, 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away, — the  sons  of  men, 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  y«ars,  matron,  and  maid, 
The  bowed  with  age,  the  infant,  in  the  smiles 
And  beauty  of  its  innocence  cut  off — 
Shall,  one  by  one,  be  gather'd  to  thy  side. 
By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them ! 

So  Uve,  that,  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourg'd  to  his  dungeon ;  but,  sustain'd  and  sooth'd 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams ! 


THE  CHARMS  OF  HOPE.— Campbell. 

At  summer  eve,  Avhen  Heaven's  ethereal  bow 
Spans  with  bright  arch  the  glittering  hills  below, 
Why  to  yon  mountain^  turns  the  musing  eye, 
Whose  sunbright  summit  mingles  with  the  sky  1 
Why  do  those  cliffs  of  shadowy  tint  appear 
More  sweet  than  all  the  landscape  smiling  near  ? 
'Tis  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view, 
And  robes  the  mountain  in  its  azure  hue. 


PRACTICE   OF  ELOCUTION. 

Thus,  with  delight,  we  linger  to  survey 

The  promised  joys  of  life's  unmeasured  way ; 

Thus,  from  afar,  each  dim-discovered  scene 

More  pleasing  seems  than  all  the  past  have  been, 

And  every  form,  that  Fancy  can  repair 

From  dark  oblivion,  glows  divinely  there. 

What  potent  spirit  guides  the  raptured  eye 
To  pierce  the  shades  of  dim  futurity  ? 
Can  Wisdom  lend,  with  all  her  heavenly  power^ 
The  pledge  of  Joy's  anticipated  hour  ? 
Ah,  no  !  she  darkly  sees  the  fate  of  man — ' 
Her  dim  horizon  bounded  to  a  span  ; 
Or,  if  she  hold  a  pleasure  to  the  view, 
'Tis  Nature  pictured  too  severely  true. 
With  thee,  sweet  Hope !  resides  the  heavenly  light,^ 
That  pours  remotest  rapture  on  the  sight : 
Thine  is  the  charm  of  life's  bewilder'd  way, 
That  calls  each  slumbering  passion  into  play. 
Waked  by  thy  touch,  I  see  the  sister  band, 
On  tiptoe  watching,  start  at  thy  command. 
And  fly  where'er  thy  mandate  bids  them  steer, 
To  Pleasure's  path,  or  Glory's  bright  career. 

Primeval  Hope,  the  Aonian  Muses  say 
Wlien  Man  and  Nature  mourned  their  first  decay, — 
When  every  form  of  death,  and  every  woe. 
Shot  from  malignant  stars  to  earth  below, — 
When  Murder  bared  her  arm,  and  rampant  War 
Yoked  tlic  red  dragons  of  his  iron  car, — 
When  Peace  and  Mercy,  banish'd  from  the  plain, 
Sprung  on  the  viewless  winds  to  Heaven  again, — 
All,  all  forsook  the  friendless,  guilty  mind, 
But  Hope,  the  charmer,  liiiger'd  still  behind ! 

Thus,  wliil<>  Elijali's  burning  wheels  prepare 
From  Carmel'B  heights  to  eweep  the  fields  of  air, 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  285 

The  prophet's  mantle,  ere  his  flight  began, 
Dropt  on  the  world — a  sacred  gift  to  man  ! 

Auspicious  Hope  !  in  thy  sweet  garden  grow 
Wreaths  for  each  toil,  a  charm  for  every  woe ; 
Won  by  their  sweets,  in  Nature's  languid  hour, 
The  way-worn  pilgrim  seeks  thy  summer  bower ; 
There,  as  the  wild  bee  murmurs  on  the  wing, 
What  peaceful  dreams  thy  handmaid  spirits  bring ! 

Angel  of  life !  thy  glittering  wings  explore 
Earth's  lonehest  bounds,  and  Ocean's  wildest  shore : 
Lo  !  to  the  wintry  winds  the  pilot  yields 
His  bark  careering  o'er  unfathom'd  fields ; 
Now  on  Atlantic  waves  he  rides  afar, 
Where  Andes,  giant  of  the  western  star. 
With  meteor-standard  to  the  winds  unfurl'd. 
Looks  from  his  throne  of  clouds,  o'er  half  the  world ! 
Now  far  he  sweeps,  where  scarce  a  summer  smiles, 
On  Behring's  rocks,  or  Greenland's  naked  isles ; 
Cold  on  his  midnight  watch,  the  breezes  blow, 
From  wastes  that  slumber  in  eternal  snow ; 
And  waft,  across  the  wave's  tumultuous  roar, 
The  Avolf 's  long  howl  from  Oonalaska's  shore. 
Poor  child  of  danger,  nurshng  of  the  storm. 
Sad  are  the  woes  that  wreck  thy  manly  form ! 
Rocks,  waves,  and- winds,  the  shatter'd  bark  delay 
Thy  heart  is  sad,  thy  home  is  far  away. 

But  Hope  can  here  her  moonlight  vigils  keep. 
And  sing  to  charm  the  spirit  of  the  deep  : 
Swift  as  yon  streamer  lights  the  starry  pole, 
Her  visions  warm  the  watchman's  pensive  soul ; 
His  native  hills,  that  rise  in  happier  climes. 
The  grot  that  heard  his  song  of  other  times. 
His  cottage  home,  his  bark  of  slender  sail, 
His  glassy  lake,  and  broomwood-blossom'd  vale, 


286  "  FKACTICE  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Rush  on  his  thought ;  he  sweeps  before  the  wind, 
Treads  the  lov'd  shore  he  sigh'd  to  leave  behind  j 
Meets  at  each  step  a  friend's  famihar  face, 
And  flies  at  last  to  Helen's  long  embrace  ; 
Wipes  from  her  ciieek  the  rapture-speaking  tear, 
And  clasps,  with  many  a  sigh,  his  children  dear  f 
Wliile,  long  neglected,  but  at  length  caress'd, 
His  faithful  dog  salutes  the  smiling  guest. 
Points  to  the  master's  eyes  (where'er  they  roam) 
His  wistful  face,  and  whines  a  welcome  home. 

Friend  of  the  brave  !  in  peril's  darkest  hour 
Intrepid  Virtue  looks  to  thee  for  power : 
To  thee  the  heart  its  trembling  homage  yields, 
On  stormy  floods,  and  carnage-cover'd  fields, 
When  front  to  front  the  banner'd  hosts  combine, 
Halt  ere  they  close,  and  form'  the  dreadful  line. 
When  all  is  still  on  Death's  devoted  soil, 
The  march- worn  soldier  mingles  for  the  toil : 
As  rings  his  glittering  tube,  he  lifts  on  high 
The  dauntless  brow,  and  spirit-speaking  eye, 
Hails  in  his  heart  the  triumph  yet  to  come, 
And  hears  thy  stormy  music  in  the  drum  I 


AMERICA  TO  GREAT  BRITAIN.— W.  Allston. 

All  hail !  thou  noble  land, 

Our  father's  native  soil ! 
O  stretch  thy  mighty  hand, 

Gigantic  grown  by  toil, 
O'er  tlie  vast  Atlantic  waves  to  our  shore : 

For  thou,  witli  magic  might, 

Canst  reach  to  where  the  light 

Of  Phcebus  travels  bright 
The  world  o'er. 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  287 

The  Genius  of  our  clime, 

From  his  pine-embattled  steep, 
Shall  hail  the  great  sublime  ; 

While  the  Tritons  of  the  deep 
With  their  conchs  the  kindred  league  shall  proclaim. 

Then  let  the  world  combine — 

O'er  the  main  our  naval  line, 

Like  the  milky  way,  shall  shine 
Bright  in  fame ! 

Though  ages  long  have  pass'd 

Since  our  fathers  left  their  home. 
Their  pilot  in  the  blast, 

O'er  untravell'd  seas  to  roam. — 
Yet  lives  the  blood  of  England  in  our  veins 3 

And  shall  we  not  proclaim 

That  blood  of  honest  fame, 

Wliich  no  tyranny  can  tame 
By  its  chains  1 

WTaile  the  language,  free  and  bold, 

"Wliich  the  bard  of  Avon  sung. 
In  which  our  Milton  told 

How  the  vault  of  heaven  rung, 
When  Satan  blasted  fell  with  his  host; 

While  this,  with  reverence  meet, 

Ten  thousand  echoes  greet, 

From  rock  to  rock  repeat 
Round  our  coast; 

While  the  manners,  while  the  arts, 

That  mould  a  nation's  soul, 
Still  cling  around  our  hearts, — 

Between  let  Ocean  roll, 
Our  joint  communion  breaking  with  the  Sun: 

Yet  still,  from  either  beach. 

The  voice  of  blood  shall  reach, 


288  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

More  audible  than  speech, — 
«  We  are  One  !» 


LADY  HERON'S  SONG.— Scott. 

Oh  !  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west, 

Thro'  all  the  wide  border  his  steel  was  the  best, 

And  save  his  good  broadsword,  he  weapons  had  none, 

He  rode  all  unarm'd,  and  he  rode  all  alone  ! 

So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 

There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar ! 

He  stay'd  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopp'd  not  for  stone, 

He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was  none ; — 

But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate 

The  bride  had  consented, — the  gallant  came  late  : 

For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war. 

Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  young  Lochinvar  I 

So,  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  bridesmen,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and  all:- 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword, 

(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word  !) 

"  Oh  !  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar  ?" 

"  I  long  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied : 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway, — but  ebbs  like  its  tide : 
And  now  I  am  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine, 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  Avine ! 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland,  more  lovely  by  far, — 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochmvar  !" 

The  bride  kies'd  the  goblet, — the  knight  took  it  up, — 
He  quaff 'd  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup. 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  289 

She  look'd  down  to  blush, — and  she  look'd  up  to  sigh — 
With  a  smile  on  her  lip,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye ! 
He  took  her  soft  hand ;  ere  her  mother  could  bar, 
"  Now  tread  we  a  measure  !"  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  his  face, 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace  ; 

While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume, 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and  plume : 

And  the  bride-maidens  wliisper'd,  "  'Twere  better  by  far, 

To  have  match'd  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear 

When  they  reach'd  the  hall-door,  and  the  charger  stood  near ; 

So  light  to  the  croup  the  fair  lady  he  swung. 

So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 

"  She  is  won  !  we  are  gone, — over  bank,  bush  and  scaur, — 

They'll  have  swift  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth  young  Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Grsemes  of  the  Netherby  clan, 

Forsters,  Fenwicks  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and  they  ran ; 

There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  Lee, 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. — 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar ! 


ST.  PETER'S  AT  ROME— THE  VATICAN.— Byron. 

But  lo !  the  dome — the  vast  and  wondrous  dome, 
To  which  Diana's  marvel  was  a  cell — 
Christ's  mighty  shrine  above  his  martyr's  tomb  ! 
I  have  beheld  the  Ephesian's  miracle — 
Its  columns  strew  the  wilderness,  and  dwell 
The  hyaena  and  the  jackal  in  their  shade  ; 
I  have  beheld  Sophia's  bright  roofs  swell 

N 


290  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Their  glittering  mass  i'  the  sun,  and  have  survey'd 
Its  sanctuary  the  while  the  usurping  Moslem  pray'd ; 

But  thou,  of  temples  old,  or  altars  new, 
Standest  alone, — with  notliing  like  to  thee— 
Worthiest  of  God,  the  holy  and  the  trae. 
Smce  Zion's  desolation,  when  that  He 
Forsook  his  former  cit}',  what  could  be 
Of  earthly  structures,  in  his  honor  piled, 
Of  a  sublimer  aspect  ?    Majesty, 
Power,  Gloiy,  Strength,  and  Beaut}',  all  are  aisled 
In  this  eternal  ark  of  worsliip  undefiled. 

Enter :  its  grandeur  overwhelms  thee  not ; 
And  why  ?     It  is  not  lessen'd  ;  but  thy  mind, 
Expanded  by  the  genius  of  the  spot. 
Has  grown  colossal,  and  can  only  find 
A  fit  abode,  wherein  appear  enshrined 
Thy  hopes  of  immortality ;  and  thou 
Shalt  one  day,  if  found  worthy,  so  defined 
See  thy  God  face  to  face,  as  thou  dost  now 
His  Holy  of  Hohes,  nor  be  blasted  by  his  brow. 

Thou  movest — but  increasing  with  the  advance, 
Like  climbing  some  great  Alp,  which  still  doth  rise, — 
Deceived  by  its  gigantic  elegance ; 
Vastness  which  grows,  but  grows  to  harmonize — 
All  musical  in  its  immensities  ; 

Rich  marbles — richer  paintings — shrines  where  flame 
The  lamps  of  Gold — and  haughty  dome  which  vies 
In  air  with  Earth's  chief  structures,  though  their  frame 
Sits  on  the  firm-set  ground — and  this  the  clouds  must  claim. 

Thou  seest  not  all ;  but  piecemeal  thou  must  break, 
To  separate  contemplation,  the  great  whole  ; 
And  as  the  Ocean  many  bays  will  make. 
That  ask  the  eye — so  here  condense  thy  soul 
To  more  immediate  objectp,  and  control 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  291 

Thy  thoughts,  until  thy  mind  hath  got  by  heart 
Its  eloquent  proportions,  and  unroll 
In  mighty  graduations,  part  by  part, 
The  glory  which  at  once  upon  thee  did  not  dart, — 

Not  by  its  fault,  but  thine  :  Our  outward  sense 
Is  but  of  gradual  grasp ;  and,  as  it  is 
That  what  we  have  of  feeling  most  intense 
Outstrips  our  faint  expression,  even  so  this 
Outshining  and  o'erwhelming  edifice 
Fools  our  fond  gaze,  and  greatest  of  the  great 
Defies  at  first  our  nature's  httleness. 
Till,  growmg  with  its  growth,  we  thus  dilate 
Our  spirits  to  the  size  of  what  they  contemplate. 

Then  pause  and  be  enhghten'd  ;  there  is  more 
In  such  a  survey  than  the  sating  gaze 
Of  wonder  pleased,  or  awe  which  would  adore 
The  worship  of  the  place,  or  the  mere  praise 
Of  art  and  its  great  masters,  who  could  raise 
What  former  time,  nor  skill,  nor  thought  could  plan; 
The  fountain  of  sublimity  displays 
Its  depth,  and  thence  may  draw  the  mind  of  man 
Its  golden  sands,  and  learn  what  great  conceptions  can. 

Or,  turning  to  the  Vatican,  go  see 
Laocoon's  torture  dignifying  pain — 
A  father's  love,  and  mortal's  agony, 
With  an  immortal's  patience  blending : — Vain 
The  struggle ;  vain,  against  the  coiling  strain 
And  gripe,  and  deepening  of  the  dragon's  grasp, 
The  old  man's  clench :  the  long,  envenom'd  chain 
Rivets  the  living  links  ;  the  enormous  asp 
Enforces  pang  on  pang,  and  stifles  gasp  on  gasp. 

Or  view  the  Lord  of  the  unerring  bow, 
The  god  of  Ufe,  and  poesy,  and  hght — 
The  Sun  in  human  limbs  array'd,  and  brow 


292  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCtmON. 

All  radiant  from  his  triumph  in  the  fight ; 
The  shaft  hath  just  been  shot— the  arrow  bright 
With  an  immortal's  vengeance ;  in  his  eye 
And  nostril,  beautiful  disdain,  and  might, 
And  majesty,  flash  their  full  hghtnings  by, 
Developing  in  that  one  glance  the  deity ! 


THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL.*— Pope. 

Vital  spark  of  heav'nly  flame, 

Q,uit,  oh !  quit  this  mortal  frame  ! 
Trembling,  hoping,  Ung'ring,  flpng.— 

O  the  pain, — the  bliss  of  dying  ! 
Cease  fond  nature,  cease  thy  strife, 
And  let  me  languish  into  life  ! 

Hark  !  they  whisper ;  angels  say, — 
"  Sister  spirit,  come  away  !" 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite, — 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  ? — 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes,  it  disappears, 
Heav'n  opens  on  my  eyes, — my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring ! 
Lend,  lend  your  wings  !     I  mount,  I  fly ! 

O  death,  where  is  thy  sting, — 

O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory? 

*  The  difficulty  of  delivering  this  exquisite  little  piece  with 
proper  ctfert,  is  that  of  preserving  the  feeble  and  failing  tone 
of  the  dyiv^  man.  and  yet  conveying  the  enthusiastic  confi- 
dence of  the  hopeful  Christian.  The  reader  must  bear  in 
mind  these  two  plumes  of  expression. 


POETICAL,    EECITATIONS.  293 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE.— Moore. 

Night  closed  around  the  conqueror's  way, 

And  lightnings  show'd  the  distant  hill, 
Wliere  those  who  lost  that  dreadful  day 

Stood,  few  and  faint,  but  fearless  still ! 
The  soldier's  hope,  the  patron's  zeal, 

For  ever  dimm'd.  for  ever  crc  ss'd — 
Oh  !  who  shall  say  what  heroes  feel, 

When  all  but  life  and  honor's  lost ! 

The  last  sad  hour  of  freedom's  dream, 

And  valor's  task,  moved  slowly  by, 
Wliile  mute  they  watch'd.  till  morning's  beam 

Should  rise  and  give  them  light  to  die  1 — 
There  is  a  world  where  souls  are  free, 

Where  tjTants  taint  not  nature's  bliss  ; 
If  death  that  world's  bright  opening  be. 

Oh !  who  would  live  a  slave  in  this  ? 


SAUL.— Byron. 

L 

Thou  whose  spell  can  raise  the  dead, 

Bid  the  prophet's  form  appear, — 
"  Samuel,  raise  thy  buried  head ! 

King,  behold  the  phantom  seer !" 
Earth  yawn'd  ;  he  stood,  the  centre  of  a  cloud ; 
Light  changed  its  hue,  retiring  from  his  shroud. 
Death  stood  all  glassy  in  his  fixed  eye ; 
His  hand  was  wither'd,  and  his  veins  were  dry ; 
His  foot,  in  bony  whiteness  glitter'd  there, 
Shrunken  and  sinewless,  and  ghastly  bare  ; 
From  lips  that  moved  not  and  unbreatliing  frame, 
Like  cavern'd  winds,  the  hollow  accents  came. 


294  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Saul  saw,  and  fell  to  earth, — as  falls  the  oak, 
At  once,  and  blasted  by  the  thunder-stroke ! 

II. 

"  Why  is  my  sleep  disquieted  ? 
Who  is  he  that  calls  the  dead  ? 
Is  it  thou,  O  king  ?     Behold, 
Bloodless  are  th  ^se  limbs,  and  cold : 
Such  are  mine  ;  and  such  shall  be 
Thine  to-morrow,  when  with  me  : 
Ere  the  coming  day  be  done. 
Such  shalt  thou  be,  such  tliy  son  ! 
Fare  thee  well !  but  for  a  day, 
Then  we  mix  our  mouldering  clay ; 
Then  thy  race.  He  pale  and  low, 
Pierced  by  shafts  of  many  a  bow ; 
And  the  falchion  by  thy  side 
To  thy  heart  thy  liand  shall  guide  ; 
Crownless.  breathless,  headless,  fall 
Son  and  sire, — the  house  of  Saul !" 


ELIZA.— Darwin. 

Now  stood  Eliza  on  the  wood-crowned  height, 
O'er  Minden's  plain,  spectatress  of  the  fight. 
Sought  with  bold  eye  amid  the  bloody  strife, 
Her  dearer  self,  the  partner  of  her  life  ; 
From  hill  to  hill  the  rushing  host  pursued, 
And  viewed  his  banner,  or  believed  she  viewed. 
Pleased  with  the  distant  roar,  with  quicker  tread 
Fast  by  his  hand  one  lisping  boy  she  led; 
And  one  fair  girl,  amid  the  loud  alarm. 
Slept  on  her  kerchief,  cradled  by  her  arm  ; 
While  round  her  brows  bright  beams  of  honor  dart, 
And  love's  warm  eddies  circle  round  her  heart. 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  295 

Near  and  more  near  the  intrepid  beauty  prest, 
Saw  through  the  driving  smoke  his  dancing  crest; 
Saw  on  his  helm,  her  virgin  hands  inwove, 
Bright  stars  of  gold,  and  mystic  knots  of  love ; 
Heard  the  exulting  shout,  "  They  run,  they  run !" 
"  Great  heav'n  !"  she  cried,  "  he's  safe  !  the  battle's  won !' 
A  ball  now  hisses  through  the  airy  tides, 
(Some  fury  winged  it.  and  some  demon  guides  !) 
Parts  the  fine  locks  her  graceful  head  that  deck, 
Wounds  her  fair  ear  and  sinks  into  her  neck ; 
The  red  stream  issuing  irom  her  azure  veins, 
Dyes  her  w^hite  veil,  her  ivory  bosom  stains. 
'  Ah  me  !"  she  cried,  and  sinking  on  the  ground, 
Kiss'd  her  dear  babes,  regardless  of  the  wound ; 
"  Oh  !  cease  not  yet  to  beat,  thou  vital  urn  ! 
Wait,  gushing  lite,  oh  wait  my  love's  retnrn  !" 
Hoarse  barks  the  wolf,  the  vulture  screams  from  far ; 
The  angel  Pity  shuns  the  ranks  of  war  ! 
"  Oh !  spare,  ye  war-hounds,  spare  their  tender  age  ; 
On  me,  on  me,"  she  cried,  "  exhaust  your  rage  !" 
Then  with  weak  arms  her  weeping-  babes  caress'd, 
And;  sighing,  hid  them  in  her  blood-stain'd  vest. 
— From  tent  to  tent  the  impatient  warrior  flies, 
Fear  in  his  heart  and  frenzy  in  his  eyes  ; 
Eliza's  name  along  the  camp  he  calls, — 
'•  Eliza"  echoes  through  the  canvass  walls. 
Q,uick  through  the  murmuring  gloom  his  footsteps  tread, 
O'er  groaning  heaps,  the  dying  and  the  dead ; 
Vault  o'er  the  plain,  and  in  the  tangled  wood 
Lo  !  dead  Eliza  weltering  in  her  blood ! 

Soon  hears  his  listening  son  the  welcome  sounds, 
With  open  arms  and  sparkling  eye  lie  bounds ; 
"  Speak  low,"  he  cries,  and  gives  his  little  hand, 
"  EHza  sleeps  upon  the  dew-cold  sand :" 
Poor  weeping  babe  with  bloody  fingers  press'd. 
And  tried  with  pouting  lips,  her  milkless  breast : 


296  PRACTICE   OF   ELOCUTION. 

"  Alas !  we  both  with  cold  and  hunger  quake — 
Why  do  you  weep  ?    Mamma  will  soon  awake." — 
"  She'll  wake  no  more !"  the  hapless  mourner  cried, 
Upturn'd  his  eyes,  and  clasp'd  his  hands  and  sigh'd; 
Stretch'd  on  the  ground  awhile  entranced  he  lay, 
And  press'd  warm  kisses  on  the  lifeless  clay : 
And  then  upsprung,  with  wild  convulsive  start, 
And  all  the  father  kindled  in  his  heart : 
"  Oh  heavens  !"  he  cried,  "  my  first  rash  vow  forgive ; 
These  bind  to  earth,  for  these  I  pray  to  live  !" 
Round  his  chill  babes  he  wrapt  his  crimson  vest, 
And  clasp'd  them  sobbing  to  his  aching  breast. 


NIGHT.— Montgomery. 

Night  is  the  time  for  rest: 
How  sweet  when  labors  close, 

To  gather  round  an  aching  breast 
The  curtain  of  repose, — 

Stretch  the  tired  limbs  and  lay  the  head 

Upon  our  own  delightful  bed  ! 

Night  is  the  time  for  dreams  : 

The  gay  romance  of  life, — 
When  truth  that  is,  and  truth  that  seems, 

Blend  in  fantastic  strife  : 
Ah  !  visions  less  beguiling  far, 
Than  waking  dreams  by  daylight  are  ! 

Night  is  the  time  to  weep : 

To  wet  with  unseen  tears 
Those  graves  of  memory  where  sleep 

The  joys  of  other  years ; 
Hopes  that  were  angels  in  their  birth, 
But  perish'd  young,  hke  things  on  earth ! 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  297 

Night  is  the  time  to  watch  ; 

On  Ocean's  dark  expanse, 
To  hail  the  Pleiades,  or  catch 

The  full  moon's  earliest  glance, 
^  That  brings  unto  the  home-sick  mind 

All  we  have  loved,  and  left  behind. 

Night  is  the  time  for  care  : 

Brooding  on  hours  misspent, 
To  see  the  spectre  of  despair 

Come  to  our  lonely  tent ; 
Like  Brutus,  midst  his  slumb'ring  host, 
Startled  by  Csesar's  stalwart  ghost. 

Night  IS  the  time  to  muse  : 

Then,  from  the  eye  the  soul 
Takes  flight,  and,  with  expanding  views, 

Beyond  the  starry  pole. 
Descries  athwart  the  abyss  of  night, 
The  dawn  of  uncreated  light. 

Night  is  the  time  to  pray : 

Our  Saviour  oft  withdrew 
To  desert  mountains  far  away  ; 

So  will  his  followers  do  ; — 
Steal  from  the  throng  to  haunts  untrod, 
And  hold  communion  there  with  God. 

Night  is  the  time  for  death ; 

When  all  around  is  peace. 
Calmly  to  yield  the  weary  breath, 

From  sin  and  suffering  cease  : 
Think  of  heaven's  bliss,  and  give  the  sign 
To  parting  friends  : — such  death  be  mine  !  * 

*  I  have  omitted  the  stanza  beginning  -  Night  is  the  time  for 
toil,^'' — because,  however  beautiful  in  expression,  it  inculcates  a 
false  principle,  inconsistent  with  a  just  economy  of  life. 

N* 


298  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 


MODERN  GREECE.— Byron. 

He  who  hath  bent  him  o'er  the  dead. 
Ere  the  first  day  of  death  is  fled, 
The  first  dark  day  of  nothingness, 
The  last  of  danger  and  distress — 
Before  Decay's  effacing  fingers 
Have  swept  the  Hnes  where  beauty  Ungers- 
And  mark'd  the  mild,  angehc  air, 
The  rapture  of  repose  that's  there, 
The  fix'd  yet  tender  traits  that  streak 
The  languor  of  the  placid  cheek, 
And — but  for  that  sad  shrouded  eye, 

That  fires  not,  wins  not,  weeps  not,  now,- 
And  but  for  that  chill,  changeless  brow, 
Where  cold  Obstruction's  apathy 
Appals  the  gazing  mourner's  heart. 
As  if  to  him  it  could  impart 
The  doom  he  dreads,  yet  dAvells  upon ; 
Yes,  but  for  tliese,  and  these  alone. 
Some  moments,  aye,  one  treacherous  hour, 
He  still  might  doubt  the  tyrant's  power, 
So  fair,  so  calm,  so  softly  seal'd. 
The  first,  last  look  by  death  reveal'd ! 
Such  is  the  aspect  of  this  shore  ; 
'Tis  Greece,  but  living  Greece  no  more  I 
So  coldly  sweet,  so  deadly  fair, 
We  start,  for  soul  is  wanting  there. 
Her's  is  the  loveliness  in  death. 
That  parts  not  quite,  with  parting  breath  ; 
But  beauty  with  that  fearful  bloom. 
That  hue  which  haunts  it  to  the  tomb, 
Expression's  last  receding  ray, 
A  gilded  halo  hovering  round  decay, 
The  farewell  beam  of  feeling  past  away, — 


POETICAL   RECITATIONS.  299 

Spark  of  that  flame,  perchance  of  heavenly  birth, 
Which  gleams,  but  warms  no  more  its  cherish'd  earth ! 

Clime  of  the  unforgotten  brave ! 
Whose  land,  from  plain  to  mountain  cave, 
Was  Freedom's  home,  or  Glory's  grave, — 

Shrine  of  the  mighty  !  can  it  be, 

That  this  is  all  remains  of  thee  1 
Approach,  thou  craven,  crouching  slave : 

Say,  is  not  this  Thermopylae  ? 
These  waters  blue  that  round  you  lave,— 

Oh  servile  offspring  of  the  free — 
Pronounce  what  sea,  what  shore  is  this  1 — ■ 

The  gulf,  the  rock  of  Salamis. 

These  scenes,  their  story  not  unknown, 
Arise,  and  make  again  your  own ; 
Snatch  from  the  ashes  of  your  sires 
The  embers  of  their  former  fires  : 
And  he  who  in  the  strife  expires. 
Will  add  to  theirs  a  name  of  fear, 
That  tyranny  shall  quake  to  hear ; 
And  leave  his  sons  a  hope,  a  fame. 
They  too  will  ratlier  die  than  shame '. 
For,  Freedom's  battle  once  begun, 
Bequeath'd  by  bleeding  sire  to  son. 
Though  baffled  oft,  is  ever  won. 
Bear  witness,  Greece,  thy  Uving  page 
Attest  it  many  a  deathless  age  ! 
While  kings,  in  dusty  darkness  hid. 
Have  left  a  nameless  pjTamid, 
Thy  heroes,  though  the  general  doom 
Hath  swept  tlie  column  from  their  tomb, 
A  mightier  monument  command, — 
The  mountains  of  their  native  land  I 


300  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 


THE  LEPER.— Willis. 

"  Room  for  the  leper  !  room  !" — And,  as  he  came 
The  cry  pass'd  on — "  Room  for  the  leper  !  room  !" — 
Sunrise  was  slanting  on  the  city's  g-ates, 
Rosy  and  beautiful :  and  from  the  hills 
The  early  risen  poor  were  coming  in, 
Duly  and  cheerfully  to  their  toil ;  and  up 
Rose  the  sharp  hammer's  clink,  and  the  far  hum 
Of  moving  wheels,  and  multitudes  astir, 
And  all  that  in  a  city  murmur  swells, — 
Unheard  hut  by  the  watcher's  weary  ear, 
Aching  with  night's  dull  silence, — or  the  sick, 
Hailing  the  welcome  light  and  sounds,  that  chase 
The  death-like  images  of  the  dark  away. 
— "  Room  for  the  leper !"     And  aside  they  stood — 
Matron,  and  child,  and  pitiless  manhood, — all 
Who  met  him  on  his  way, — and  let  him  pass. 
And  onward  through  the  open  gate  he  came, 
A  leper  with  the  ashes  on  his  brow. 
Sackcloth  about  his  loins,  and  on  his  lip 
A  covering, — stepping  painfully  and  slow, 
And  with  a  difficult  utterance,  like  one 
Whose  heart  is  with  an  iron  nerve  put  down, 
Crying  "  Unclean  !  Unclean  !" 

'Twas  now  the  first 
Of  the  Judean  autumn,  and  the  leaves, 
Whose  shadows  lay  so  still  upon  his  path, 
Had  put  their  beauty  forth  beneath  the  eye 
Of  Judah's  loftiest  noble.     He  was  young, 
And  eminently  beautiful ;  and  life 
Mantled  in  el(!gant  fulness  on  his  lip. 
And  sparkled  in  his  glance  ;  and  in  his  mien 
There  was  a  gracious  pride,  that  every  eye 
Followed  with  benisons  ; — and  this  was  he  ! 


POETICAL   RECITATIONS.  301 

And  he  went  forth — alone  I    Not  one  of  all 
The  many  whom  he  loved,  nor  she  whose  name 
Was  woven  in  the  fibres  of  his  heart 
Breaking  within  him  now,  to  come  and  speak 
Comfort  unto  him.     Yea, — he  went  his  way. 
Sick,  and  heart-broken,  and  alone. — to  die ! 
For  God  had  cursed  the  leper  ! 

It  was  noon, 
And  Helon  knelt  beside  a  stagnant  pool 
In  the  lone  wilderness,  and  bathed  his  brow, 
Hot  with  the  burning  leprosy,  and  touch'd 
The  loathsome  water  to  his  fever'd  lips, 
Praying  that  he  might  be  so  blest, — to  die ! 
— Footsteps  approach'd  ;  and  with  no  strength  to  flee, 
He  drew  the  covering  closer  on  his  lip. 
Crying.  "  Unclean  !  Unclean  !"  and  m  the  folds 
Of  the  coarse  sackcloth  shrouding  up  his  lace, 
He  fell  upon  the  earth  till  they  should  pass. 
Nearer  the  stranger  came,  and  bending  o'er 
The  leper's  prostrate  form,  pronounced  his  name. 
"  Helon  !" — The  voice  was  like  the  master-tone 
Of  a  rich  instrument, — most  strangely  sweet ; 
And  the  dull  pulses  of  disease  awoke. 
And,  for  a  moment,  beat  beneath  the  hot 
And  leprous  scales  with  a  restoring  thrill  ! 
"  Helon  !  arise  !" — and  he  forgot  his  curse, 
And  rose  and  stood  before  Him. 

Love  and  awe 
Mingled  in  the  regard  of  Helon's  eye. 
As  he  beheld  the  stranger. — He  was  not 
In  costly  raiment  clad,  nor  on  His  brow 
The  symbol  of  a  princely  hneage  Avore ; — 
No  followers  at  His  back, — nor  in  His  hand 
Buckler,  or  sword,  or  spear ; — yet  if  He  smiled, 
A  kingly  condescension  graced  His  lips, 


302  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

A  lion  would  have  crouched  to  in  his  lair. 

His  garb  was  simple,  and  His  sandals  worn, 

His  stature  modelled  with  a  perfect  grace ; 

His  countenance  the  impress  of  a  God, 

Touch'd  with  the  opening  innocence  of  a  child ; 

His  eye  was  blue  and  calm,  as  is  the  sky 

In  the  serenest  noon ;  His  hair  unshorn 

Fell  to  His  shoulders ;  and  His  curUng  beard 

The  fullness  of  perfected  manhood  bore. 

—He  look'd  on  Helon  earnestly  awhile. 

As  if  His  heart  were  moved,  and,  stooping  down, 

He  took  a  httle  water  in  His  hand, 

And  laid  it  on  his  brow,  and  said.  ••  Be  clean !" 

And  lo  !  the  scales  fell  from  him  ;  and  his  blood 

Coursed  with  delicious  coolness  through  his  veins, 

And  his  dry  palms  grew  moist ;  and  on  his  brow 

The  dewy  softness  of  an  infant's  sole  : 

His  leprosy  was  cleans'd  ;  and  he  fell  down 

Prostrate  at  Jesus'  feet,  and  worshipped  Him. 


A  POETESS'S  PICTURE  OF  A  COUNTRY  LIFE. 

Joanna  Baillie. 

Ev'n  now,  mcthinks. 
Each  little  cottage  of  my  native  vale 
Swells  out  its  earthen  sides,  upheaves  its  roof, 
Like  to  a  hillock  moved  by  laboring  mole. 
And  with  green  trail-weeds  clambering  up  its  walls, 
Roses,  and  every  gay  and  fragrant  plant, 
Before  my  fancy  stands  a  fairy  bower ; 
Aye,  and  within  it,  too,  do  fairies  dwell. 
Peep  through  its  \vreathed  window,  if,  indeed. 
The  flowers  grow  not  too  close  ;  and  there  within, 
Thou'lt  see  some  half  a  dozen  rosy  brats. 
Eating  from  wooden  bowls  their  dainty  milk — 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  303 

Those  are  my  mountain  elves.     Seest  thou  not 
Their  very  forms  distinctly  ? — 

I'll  gather  round  my  board 
AU  that  heav'n  sends  to  me  of  way-worn  folks, 
And  noble  travellers  and  neighboring  friends, 
Both  young  and  old.     Within  my  ample  hall. 
The  worn-out  man  of  arms  shall  o'  tip-toe  tread, 
Tossing  his  gray  locks  from  his  wrinkled  brow, 
With  cheerful  fi-eedom,  as  he  boasts  his  feats 
Of  days  gone  by.     Music  we'll  have,  and  ofl 
The  bickering  dance  upon  our  oaken  floors 
Shall,  thundering  loud,  strike  on  the  distant  ear 
Of  nighted  travellers,  who  shall  gladly  bend 
Their  doubtful  footsteps  towards  the  cheering  dm. 
Solemn,  and  grave,  and  cloister'd  and  demure, 
We  shall  not  be  :  but  every  season 
Shall  have  its  suited  pastime  :  even  winter 
In  its  deep  noon,  when  mountains  piled  with  snow, 
And  choked  up  valleys,  to  our  mansion  bar 
All  entrance,  and  nor  guest  nor  traveller 
Sounds  at  our  gate  ;  the  empty  hall  forsaken, 
In  some  warm  chamber  by  the  crackling  fire. 
We'll  hold  our  little,  snug,  domestic  court, 
Plying  our  work  with  song  and  tale  between. 


THE  GRAVES  OF  A  HOUSEHOLD.— F.  Hemans. 

They  grew  in  beauty,  side  by  side. 
They  fiU'd  one  house  with  glee  ; 

Their  graves  are  sever'd,  far  and  wide, 
By  mount,  and  stream,  and  sea. 

The  same  fond  mother  bent  at  night 
O'er  each  fair  sleeping  brow ; 


304  PRACTICE    OF  ELOCUTION. 

She  had  each  folded  flower  in  sight — 
Where  are  those  dreamers  now  ? 

One  'midst  the  forests  of  the  west, 

By  a  dark  stream  is  laid — 
The  Indian  knows  his  place  of  rest, 

Far  in  the  cedar  shade. 

The  sea,  the  blue  lone  sea,  hath  one, 
He  lies  where  pearls  he  deep  ; 

He  was  the  lov'd  of  all,  yet  none 
O'er  his  low  bed  may  weep. 

One  sleeps  where  southern  vines  are  dress'd 

Above  the  noble  slain : 
He  wrapt  his  colors  round  his  breast 

On  a  blood-red  field  of  Spain. 

And  one — o'er  her  the  myrtle  showers 
Its  leaves,  by  soft  winds  fann'd  ; 

She  faded  'midst  Italian  flowers — 
The  last  of  that  bright  band. 

And  parted  thus,  they  rest  who  play'd 
Beneath  the  same  green  tree  ; 

Whose  voices  mingled  as  they  pray'd 
Around  one  parent  knee  ! 

They  that  with  smiles  lit  up  the  hall 
And  cheer'd  with  song  the  hearth — 

Alas  !  for  love,  if  thou  wert  all. 
And  nought  beyond,  on  earth  ! 


BERNARDO  DEL  CARPIO.— F.  Hemans. 

The  warrior  bow'd  his  crested  head,  and  tamed  his  heart  of  fire, 
And  sued  the  haughty  king  to  free  his  long  imprison'd  sire ; 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  305 

"  I  bring  thee  here  my  fortress  keys,  I  bring  my  captive  train, 
I  bring  thee  faith,  my  Hege,  my  lord ! — oh,  break  my  father's 
chain  1" 

"  Rise,  rise !  ev'n  now  tliy  father  comes,  a  ransom'd  man  this  day. 
Mount  thy  good  horse,  and  thou  and  I  will  meet  liim  on  his  way." 
Then  hghtly  rose  that  loyal  son,  and  bounded  on  his  steed. 
And  urged,  as  if  with  lance  in  rest,  the  charger's  foamy  speed. 

And  lo !  from  far,  as  on  they  press'd,  there  came  a  glittering  band, 
With  one  that  'midst  them  stately  rode,  as  a  leader  in  the  land ; 
"  Now  haste,  Bernardo,  haste !  for  there  in  very  truth  is  he, 
The  father  whom  thy  faithful  heart  hath  yearn'd  so  long  to  see." 

His  dark  eye  flash'd,  his  proud  breast  heav'd,  his  cheek's  blood 
came  and  went ; 

He  reach'd  that  grey-hair'd  chieftain's  side,  and  there  dismount- 
ing bent ; 

A  lowly  knee  to  earth  he  bent,  his  father's  hand  he  took, — 

What  was  there  m  its  touch  that  all  his  fiery  spirit  shook  ? 

That  hand  was  cold — a  frozen  thing — it  dropp'd  from  his  like 

lead, — 
He  look'd  up  to  the  face  above, — the  face  was  of  the  dead ! 
A  plume  waved  o'er  the  noble  brow,the  brow  was  fix'd  and  white ; 
He  met  at  last  his  father's  eyes, — but  in  them  was  no  sight ! 

Up  from  the  ground  he  sprung,  and  gaz'd,  but  who  could  paint 

that  gaze  ? 
They  hush'd  their  very  hearts  that  saw  its  horror  and  amaze  ; 
They  might  have  chain'd  him,  as  before  that  stony  form  he  stood, 
For  the  power  was  stricken  from  his  arm,  and  from  his  lip  the 

blood. 

"  Father !"  at  length,  he  murmur'd  low,  and  wept  like  child- 
hood then : — 
Talk  not  of  grief  till  thou  hast  seen  the  tears  of  warlike  men ! — 
He  thought  on  all  his  glorious  hopes,  on  all  his  young  renown, — 
He  flung  the  falchion  from  his  side,  and  in  the  dust  sat  down. 


306  PRACTICE  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Then,  covering,  with  his  steel-glov'd  hands,  his  darkly  mournful 

brow, 
"  No  more,  there  is  no  more,"  he  said, "  to  lift  the  sword  for,  now — 
My  king  is  false,  my  hope  betray'd,  my  father — oh  !  the  worth, 
The  glory,  and  the  loveliness,  are  pass'd  away  from  earth  ! 

"  I  thought  to  stand  where  banners  wav'd,  my  sire !  beside  thee 

yet, 
1  would  that  there  our  kindred  blood  on  Spain's  free  soil  had  met ; 
Thou  wouldst  have  known  my  spirit  then, — for  thee  my  fields 

were  won, — 
And  thou  hast  perish'd  in  thy  chains,  as  if  thou  hadst  no  eon." 

Then  starting  from  the  ground  once  more,  he  seized  the  mon- 
arch's rein. 
Amidst  the  pale  and  wilder'd  looks  of  all  the  courtier  train ; 
And  with  a  fierce,  o'ermastering  grasp,  the  raging  war-horse  led, 
And  sternly  set  them  face  to  face, — the  king  before  the  dead  ! 

"  Came  I  not  forth  upon  thy  pledge,  ray  father's  hand  to  kiss  1 
Be  still,  and  gaze  thou  on,  false  king!  and  tell  me  what  is  this? 
The  voice,  the  glance,  the  heart  I  sought — give  answer,  where 

are  they  ? 
If  thou  wouldst  clear  thy  perjur'd  soul,  send  life  through  this 

cold  clay ! 

*'  Into  these  glassy  eyes  put  light, — be  still !  keep  down  thine  ire, — 
Bid  these  white  lips  a  blessing  speak — this  earth  is  not  my  sire  ! 
Give  me  back  him  for  whom  I  strove,  for  whom  my  blood  was 

shed,— 
Thou  canst  not — and  a  king  ? — His  dust  be  mountains  on  thy 

head !" 

He  loos'd  the  steed  ;  his  slack  hand  fell ; — upon  the  silent  face 
He  cast  one  long,  deep,  troubled  look, — then  turn'd  from  tha 

sad  place : 
His  hope  was  crush'd,  his  after-fate  untold  in  martial  strain, — 
His  banner  led  the  spears  no  more  amidst  the  hills  of  Spain ! 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  307 

THE  GLOVE  AND  THE  LIONS.— L.  Hunt. 

King  Francis  was  a  hearty  king,  and  lov'd  a  royal  sport, 
And  one  day,  as  liis  lions  fought,  sat  looking  on  the  court ; 
The  nobles  fill'd  the  benches  round,  the  ladies  by  their  side, 
And  'mongst  them  sat  the  Count  de  Lorge,  with  one  for  whom 

he  sigh'd : 
And  truly  'twas  a  gallant  thing  to  see  that  crowning  show, 
Valor  and  love,  and  a  king  above,  and  the  royal  hearts  below. 

Ramp'd  and  roar'd  the  lions,  with  horrid  laughing  jaws ; 
They  bit,  they  glared,  gave  blows  like  beams,  a  wind  went  with 

their  paws : 
With  wallowing  might  and  stifled  roar,  they  roU'd  on  one  another, 
Till  all  the  pit,  with  sand  and  mane,  was  in  a  thund'rous  smother ; 
The  bloody  foam  above  the  bars  came  whizzing  thro'  the  air ; 
Said  Francis  then,  "  Faith !  gentlemen,  we're  better  here  than 

there !" 

De  Lorge's  love  o'er-heard  the  king,  a  beauteous  lively  dame, 
With  smiling  lips  and  sharp  bright  eyes,  which  always  seem'd 

the  same ;. 
She  thought, — The  Count  my  lover  is  brave  as  brave  can  be — 
He  surely  would  do  wondrous  things  to  show  his  love  of  me : 
King,  ladies,  lovers,  all  look  on  ;  the  occasion  is  divine ! 
ril  drop  my  glove,  to  prove  his  love  ;  great  glory  Avill  be  mine  ! 

She  drojip'd  her  glove,  to  prove  his  love,  then  look'd  at  him 

and  smiPd ; 
He  bow'd,  and  in  a  moment  leap'd  among  the  Uons  wild. 
The  leap  was  quick,  return  was  quick — he  has  regain'd  the 

place, — 
Then  threw  the  glove — but  not  with  love — right  in  the  lady's  face. 
"  By  heaven  !"  cried  Francis.  "  rightly  done  !"  and  he  rose  from 

where  he  sat: 
"  No  love,"  quoth  he,  '•  but  vanity,  sets  love  a  task  like  that !" 


308  FRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

PATIEKCE  AND  HOPE.— Bulwek. 

Upon  a  barren  steep, 

Above  a  stormy  deep, 
I  saw  an  angel  watching  the  wild  sea ; 

Earth  was  that  barren  steep, 

Time  was  that  stormy  deep, 
And  the  opposing  shore — Eternity ! 

"  Why  dost  thou  watch  the  wave  ? 

Thy  feet  the  waters  lave, 
The  tide  engulphs  thee,  if  thou  do  remain." 

'•  Unscath'd  I  watch  the  wave  ; — 

Time  not  the  Angel's  grave, — 
I  wait  until  the  waters  ebb  again." 

Hush'd  on  the  Angel's  breast 

I  saw  an  infant  rest 
Smiling  on  the  gloomy  hell  below. 

"  Wliat  is  the  infant  prest, 

O  angel,  to  thy  breast  ?" 
"  The  child  God  gave  me  in  the  long  ago  f 

"  Mine  all  upon  the  earth — 

— The  angel's  angel  birth, 
Smihng  all  terror  from  tlie  howling  wild  !" — 

Never  may  I  forget 

The  dream  that  haunts  me  yet 
Of  Patience  nursing  Hope — tlie  Angel  and  the  Child ! 


ABOU  BEN  ADHEM  AND  THE  ANGEL.— Leigh  Hunt, 

Abod  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase  !) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace. 
And  saw,  within  the  moonlight  in  his  room, 
Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  lily  bloom, 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  309 

An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold. 

Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold ; 

And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said — 

"  What  writest  thou  ?" — The  vision  rais'd  its  head, 

And  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord, 

Answer'd,  "  The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord !" 

"  And  is  mine  one  ?"  said  Abou.     "  Nay,  not  so ;" 

Rephed  the  angel.     Abou  spoke  more  low, 

But  cheerly  still ;  and  said,  "  I  pray  thee  then 

Write  me  as  one  that  loves  my  fellow  men." 

— The  angel  wrote  and  vanish'd.     The  next  night 

It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light, 

And  show'd  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  bless'd ; 

And  lo  !     Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest. 


COXCOMBRY  IN  CONVERSATION.— Cowper. 

The  emphatic  speaker  dearly  loves  to  oppose, 
In  contact  inconvenient,  nose  to  nose, — 
As  if  the  gnomon  on  his  neighbor's  phiz, 
Touch'd  with  a  magnet,  had  attracted  his. 
His  whisper'd  theme,  dilated  and  at  large, 
Proves,  after  all,  a  wind-gun's  airy  charge, — 
An  extract  of  Ms  diar)^ — no  more, — 
A  tasteless  journal  of  the  day  before. 
He  walk'd  abroad,  o'ertaken  in  the  rain, 
Call'd  on  a  friend,  drank  tea,  stepp'd  home  again, 
Resumed  his  purpose,  had  a  Avorld  of  talk 
With  one  he  stumbled  on,  and  lost  his  walk. 
I  interrupt  him  with  a  sudden  bow, — 
"  Adieu,  dear  sir !  lest  you  should  lose  it  now." 

I  cannot  talk  with  civet  in  the  room, — 
A  fine  puss  gentleman,  that's  all  perfume : 
His  odoriferous  attempts  to  plesise, 


310  PRACTICE  OF  ELOCUTION, 

Perhaps  might  prosper  with  a  swarm  of  bees  ; 

But  we  that  make  no  honey,  though  we  sting, — 

Poets, — are  sometimes  apt  to  maul  the  thing. 

A  graver  coxcomb  we  may  sometimes  see, 

Q,uite  as  absurd,  though  not  so  hght  as  he ; 

A  shallow  brain  behind  a  serious  mask, 

An  oracle  within  an  empty  cask. 

The  solemn  fop ; — significant  and  budge, 

A  fool  with  judges,  amongst  fools  a  judge  ; 

He  says  but  little,  and  that  little  said 

Owes  all  its  weight,  like  loaded  dice,  to  lead. 

His  wit  invites  you,  by  his  looks,  to  come, 

But,  when  you  knock,  it  never  is  at  home : 

'Tis  like  a  parcel  sent  you  by  the  stage, — 

Some  handsome  present,  as  your  hopes  presage ; 

'Tis  heav}',  bulky,  and  bids  fair  to  prove 

An  absent  friend's  fidelity  and  love, — 

But,  when  unpack'd,  your  disappointment  groanff, 

To  find  it  stuff'd  witli  brickbats,  earth  and  stones. 


YESTERDAY.— TuppER. 

Speak,  poor  almsman,  of  to-day.  whom  none  can  assure  of  a 

to-morrow. 
Tell  out,    with  honest    heart,   the  price   thou    settest    upon 

yesterday. 
Is  it  then  a  writing  in  the  dust,  traced  by  the  finger  of  Idleness, 
Which  Industry,  clean  housewife,  can  wipe  away  for  ever  ? 
Is  it  as  a  furrow  on  tlie  sand,  fashioned  by  the  tojang  waves, 
Quickly  to  be  trampled  then  again  by  the  feet  of  the  returning 

tide? 
Is  it  ae  the  pale  blue  smoke,  rising  from  a  peasant's  hovel, 
That  melted  into  limpid  air,  before  it  topp'd  the  larches  ? 
Is  it  but  a  vision,  unstable  and  unreal,  wliich  wise  men  soon 

forget  ? 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  311 

Is  it  as  the  stranger  of  the  night, — gone,  we  heed  not  whither  ? 
Alas !  thou  foolish  heart,  whose  thoughts  are  but  as  these, 
AIels  !  deluded  soul,  that  hopeth  thus  of  yesterday  ! 

For  behold — those  temples  of  EUora,  the  Brahmin's  rock-built 

shrine, 
Behold — yon  granite  cliff,  which  the  North  Seabuffeteth  in  vain, 
That  stout  old  forest  fir — these  waking  verities  of  life. 
This  guest  abiding  ever,  not  strange,  nor  a  servant,  but  a  son, — 
Such,  O  man,  are  vanity  and  dreams,  transient  as  a  rainbow 

on  the  cloud, 
VVeigh'd  against  that  solid  fact,  tliine  iU-remember'd  yesterday. 

Come,  let  me  show  thee  an  ensample,  where  Nature  shaU  in- 
struct us. 
Luxuriantly  the  arguments  for  Truth   spring  native  in  her 

gardens ; 
Seek  we  yonder  woodman  of  the  plain ;  he  is  measuring  his 

axe  to  the  elm, 
And  anon  the  sturdy  strokes  ring  upon  the  wintry  air ; 
Eagerly  the  village  school-boys  cluster  on  the  tightened  rope. 
Shouting,  and  bending  to  the  pull,  or  lifted  from  the  ground 

elastic. 
The  huge  tree  boweth    like  Sisera  boweth  to  its  foes  with 

faintness, — 
Its  sinews  crack, — deep  groans  declare  the  reeling  anguish  of 

Goliath ; 
The  wedge  is  driven  home, — and  the  saw  is  at  its  heart,  and 

lo  !  with  solemn  slowness. 
The  shuddering  monarch  riseth  from  his  throne, — toppled  with 

a  crash, — and  is  fallen  ! 

Now,  shall  the  mangled  stump  teach  proud  man  a  lesson ; 
Now,  can  we  from  that  elm-tree's  sap  distil  the  wine  of  Truth. 
Heed  ye  those  hundred  rings,  concentric  from  the  core. 
Eddying  in  various  waves  to  the  red  bark's  shore-like  rim? 
These  be  the  gatherings  of  yesterdays,  present  all  to-day, 


312  PRACTICE   OF   ELOCtrriON. 

This  is  the  tree's  judgment^ — self-history  that  cannot  be  gainsaid. 

Seven  years  agone  there  was  a  drought, — and  the  seventh  ring 
is  narrow'd, 

The  fifth  from  hence  was  half  a  deluge, — the  fifth  is  cellular 
and  broad ; 

Thus,  Man,  thou  art  a  result  of  the  growth  of  many  yesterdays, 

That  stamp  thy  secret  soul  with  growth  of  weal  or  woe ; 

Thou  art  an  almanac  of  self,  the  living  record  of  thy  deeds ; 

Spirit  has  its  scars  as  well  as  body,  sore  and  aching  in  their 
season : 

Here  is  a  knot, — it  was  a  crime :  there  is  a  canker, — selfishness ; 

Lo,  here  the  heart-wood  rotten ;  lo,  there,  perchance,  the  sap- 
wood  sound ; 

Nature  teacheth  not  in  vain  ;  thy  works  are  in  thee,  of  thee ; 

Some  present  evil  bent  hath  grown  of  older  errors. 

And  what  if  thou  be  walking  now  uprightly  ?  Salve  not  thy 
wounds  with  poison, 

As  if  a  petty  goodness  of  to-day  hath  blotted  out  the  sin  of  yes- 
terday. 

It  is  well,  thou  hast  hfe  and  hght;  and  the  Hewer  showeth 
mercy, 

Dressing  the  root,  pruning  the  branch,  and  looking  for  thy 
tardy  fruits ; 

But  even  here,  as  thou  standest,  cheerful  belike  and  careless, 

The  stains  of  ancient  evil  are  upon  thee,  the  record  of  thy 
wrong  is  in  thee : 

For,  a  curse  of  many  yesterdays  is  thine,  many  yesterdays 
of  sin, 

That,  haply  little  heeded  now,  shall  blast  thy  many  morrows. 

Shall  then  a  man  reck  nothing,  but  hurl  mad  defiance  at  his 

Judge, 
Knowing  that  less  than  an  omnipotent  cannot  make  the  has 

been,  not  been  ? 
He  ought,  Ro  Satan  spake ;  he  must,  so  Atheism  urgeth ; 
He  may,  it  was  the  libertine's  thought ;  he  doth, — the  bad  world 

said  it. 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  313 

But  thou  of  humbler  heart,  thou  student  wiser  for  simplicity, 
While  Nature  warmeth  thee  betimes,  heed  the  loving  counsel 

of  Religion. 
True,  this  change  is  good,  and  penitence  most  precious ; 
But  trust  not  thou  thy  change  ;  nor  rest  upon  repentance ; 
For  we  all  are  corrupted  at  the  core,  smooth  as  our  surface 

seeraeth ; 
What  health  can  bloom  in  a  beautiful  skin,  when  rottenness 

hath  fed  upon  the  bones  ? 
And  guilt  is  parcel  of  us  all ;  not  thou,  sweet  nursUng  of  affection, 
Art  spotless,  though  so  passing  fair,  nor  thou,  wild  patriarch  of 

virtue ; 
Behold  then  the  better  tree  of  Life,  free  unto  us  all  for  grafting, 
Cut  thee  from  the  hollow  root  of  self,  to  be  budded  on  a  richer  vine, 
Be  desperate,  O  man,  as  of  evil  so  of  good  ;  tear  that  tunic  from 

thee; 
The  past  can  never  be  retriev'd,  be  the  present  what  it  may. 
Vain  is  the  penance  and  the  scourge,  vain  the  fast  and  vigil ; 
The  fencer's  cautious  skill  to-day,  can  this  erase  his  scars  1 
It  is  man's  to  famish  as  a  faquir,  it  is  man's  to  die  a  devotee ; 
Light  is  the  torture  and  the  toil,  balanced  with  the  wages  of 

Eternity : 
But,  it  is  God's  to  yearn  in  love  on  the  humblest,  the  poorest, 

and  the  worst; 
For  he  has  giv'n  freely,  as  a  King,  asking  only  thanks  for  mercy. 
Look  upon  this  noble-hearted  Substitute  ;  seeing  thy  woes,  he 

pitied  thee ; 
Bow'd  beneath  the  mountain  of  thy  sin  and  perish'd, — but  for 

God-head. 
There  stood  the  Atlas  in  his  power,  and  Prometheus  in  his  love 

is  there, 
Emptying,  on  wretched  man,  the  blessings  earn'd  from  heav'n. 
Put  them  not  away — hide  them  in  thy  breast,  poor  and  penitent 

receiver ; 
Be  gratitude  thy  counsellor  to  good,  and  wholesome  fear  unto 
obedience : 


314  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Remember  the  pruning  knife  is  keen,  cutting  cankers  even  from 

the  vine ; 
Remember,  twelve  were  chosen,  and  one  among  them  hveth  in 

perdition. 
Yea, — for  standing  unatoned,  the  soul  is  a  bison  on  the  prairie, 
Hunted  by  those  trooping  wolves,  the  many  sinful  yesterdays  : 
And  it  speedeth  a  terrified  Deucalion,  flinging  back  the  pebble 

in  his  flight, — 
The  pebble  that  must  add  one  more  to  those  pursuing  ghosts. 
O  man !  there  is  a  storm  behind,  should  drive  in  thy  bark  to  haven : 
The  foe,  the  foe,  is  on  thy  track,  patient,  certain  and  avenging ; 
Day  by  day,  solemnly  and  silently  foUoweth  the  fearful  past, — 
His  step  is  lame  but  sure  ;  for  he  catcheth  the  present  in  eternity : 
And  how  to  escape  that  foe,  the  present-past  in  future  ? 
How  to  avert  that  fate,  living  consequence  of  causes  unexistent? 
Boldly  we  must  overleap  his  birth,  and  date  above  his  memories, 
Grafted  on  the  living  Tree  that  was  before  a  yesterday ; 
No  refuge  of  a  yovmger  birth  than  one  that  saw  creation, 
Can  hide  the  child  of  time  from  still  condemning  yesterday. 
There  is  the  Sanctuary-city,  mocking  at  the  wrath  of  thine 

Avenger, 
Close  at  hand,  with  its  wicket  on  the  latch  ;  haste  for  thy  life, 

poor  hunted  one  ! 
The  gladiator,  Guilt,  fighteth  as  of  old,  armed  with  net  and 

dagger ; 
Snaring  in  the  mesh  of  yesterdays,  stabbing  with  the  poniard 

of  to-day ; 
Fly,  thy  sword  is  broken  at  the  hilt;  fly,  thy  shield  is  shiver'd ; 
Leap  the  barriers  and  bafile  him ;  the  arena  of  the  past  is  his. 
The  bounds  of  guilt  are  the  cycles  of  time  ;  thou  must  be  safe 

within  Eternity ; 
The  arms  of  God  alone  shall  rescue  thee  from  yesterday. 


POETICAL    RECITATIONS.  815 


A  POET'S  PARTING  THOUGHT.*— Motherwell. 

When  I  beneath  the  cold  red  earth  am  sleeping, 

Life's  fever  o'er, 
Will  there  for  me  be  any  bright  eye  weeping 

That  I'm  no  more  ? 
Will  there  be  any  heart  still  memory  keeping 

Of  heretofore  ? 

When  the  great  winds  through  leafless  forests  rushing, 

Sad  music  make ; 
When  the  swollen  streams,  o'er  crag  and  gully  gushing, 

Like  full  hearts  break, — 
Will  there  then  one,  whose  heart  despair  is  crushing, 

Mourn  for  my  sake  ? 

When  the  bright  sun  upon  that  spot  is  shining. 

With  purest  ray. 
And  the  small  flowers,  their  buds  and  blossoms  twining. 

Burst  through  that  clay, — 
Will  there  be  one  still  on  that  spot  repining 

Lost  hopes  all  day  ? 

When  no  star  twinkles  with  its  eye  of  glory. 

On  that  low  momid. 
And  wintry  storms  have,  with  their  rums  hoary, 

Its  loneness  crown'd, — 
Will  there  be  then  one,  vers'd  in  misery's  story, 

Pacing  it  round  ? — 

It  may  be  so, — but  this  is  selfish  sorrow 
To  ask  such  meed, — 

*  These  lines  of  Motherwell, — so  touching  in  their  simple 
pathos,  and  so  unselfish  in  the  calm  resignation  of  their  close, 
— were  given  to  a  friend  by  the  author,  a  day  or  two  before  his 
decease. 


316  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

A  weakness  and  a  wickedness  to  borrow, 

From  hearts  that  bleed, 
The  waitings  of  to-day  for  what  to-morrow 

Shall  never  need. 

Lay  me  then  gently  in  my  narrow  dwelling, 

Thou  gentle  heart ; 
And  though  thy  bosom  should  with  grief  be  swelling, 

Let  no  tear  start : 
It  were  in  vain, — for  time  hath  long  been  knelling ; — 

Sad  one,  depart ! 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  317 


DIALOGUE  AND  DRAMATIC  PIECES. 


LOCHIEL'S  WARNING.— Campbell. 

WIZARD — LOCHIEL.* 

Wiz. — Lochiel,  Lochiel !  beware  of  the  day 
When  the  lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle  array ! 
For  a  field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight. 
And  the  clans  of  CuUoden  are  scatter'd  in  fight. 
They  rally,  they  bleed  for  their  kingdom  and  crown ; 
Woe,  woe  to  the  riders  that  trample  them  down ! 
Proud  Cumberland  prances,  insulting  the  slain, 
And  their  hoof-beaten  bosoms  are  trod  to  the  plain  ! 
But  hark !  through  the  fast  flashing  lightning  of  war, 
What  steed  to  the  desert  flies  frantic  and  far  1 
'Tis  thine,  oh  Glenullin !  whose  bride  shall  await, 
Like  a  love-lighted  watch-fire,  all  night  at  the  gate. 
A  steed  comes  at  morning  ;  no  rider  is  there  ; 
But  its  bridle  is  red  with  the  sign  of  despair. 
Weep,  Albin !  to  death  and  captivity  led ! 
Oh  weep !  but  thy  tears  cannot  number  the  dead. 

*  In  this  dialogue,  the  tone  of  the  Wizard,  or  Seer — who  is 
supposed  to  be  gifted  with  second-sight — must  be  deep,  and 
solemn  ;  increasing  in  pitch  and  force  as  the  images  of  horror 
crowd  upon  his  vision,  and  varied  occasionally  by  the  soft  tones 
of  grief.  The  expression  of  the  chieftain  Lochiel  must  be  that 
of  bold  confidence,  daring,  and  contempt  of  the  Wizard's  pre- 
diction.   His  pitch  will  therefore  be  higher,  and  his  tone  louder. 


318  PRACTICE   OF   ELOCUTION. 

For  a  merciless  sword  on  CuUoden  shall  wave, 
CuUoden !  that  reeks  with  the  blood  of  the  brave. 

Loc. — Go  preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death-telling  seer ! 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden  so  dreadful  appear, 
Draw,  dotard,  around  thy  old  wavering  sight 
This  mantle — to  cover  the  phantoms  of  flight. 

Wiz. — Ha  !  laugh'st  thou,  Lochiel.  my  vision  to  scorn? 
Proud  bird  of  the  mountain,  thy  plume  shall  be  torn ! — 
Say,  rush'd  the  bold   eagle  exultingly  forth 
From  his  home,  in  the  dark-rolling  clouds  of  the  north  1 
Lo!  the  death-shot  of  foemen  outspeeding.  he  rode, 
Companionless,  bearing  destruction  abroad : 
But  down  let  him  stoop  from  his  havoc  on  high  ! 
Ah !  home  let  him  speed,  for  the  spoiler  is  nigh. 
Why  flames  the  far  summit  ?     Why  shoot  to  the  blast 
Those  embers,  like  stars  from  the  firmament  cast  ? 
'Tis  the  fire-shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully  driven 
From  his  eyrie,  that  beacons  the  darkness  of  heaven. 
Oh !  crested  Lochiel !  the  peerless  in  might, 
Whose  banners  arise  on  the  battlements'  height, 
Heaven's  fire  is  around  thee,  to  blast  and  to  burn ; 
Return  to  thy  dwelling ;  all  lonely  return  ! 
For  the  blackness  of  aslies  shall  mark  where  it  stood, 
And  a  wild  mother  scream  o'er  her  famishing  brood  ! 

Loc. — False  Wizard,  avaunt !     I  have  marsh  all'd  my  clan, 
Their  swords  are  a  thousand,  their  hearts  are  but  one  ! 
They  are  true  to  the  last  of  their  blood  and  their  breath, 
And  hke  reapers  descend  to  the  harvest  of  death. 
Then  welcome  be  Cumberland's  steed  to  the  shock  ! 
Let  him  dash  his  proud  foam  like  a  wave  on  the  rock ! 
But  woe  to  his  kindred,  and  woe  to  his  cause, 
When  Albin  her  claymore  indignantly  draws; 
When  her  bonneted  chieftains  to  victory  crowd, 
Clanronald  the  dauntless,  and  Moray  the  proud, 
All  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array — 

Wiz. — Lochiel,  Lochiel !  beware  of  the  day ! 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  819 

For,  dark  and  despairing  my  sight  I  may  seal, 

But  man  cannot  cover  what  God  would  reveal ; 

'Tis  the  sunset  of  life  gives  me  mystical  lore, 

And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. — 

I  tell  thee,  CuUoden's  dread  echoes  shall  ring 

With  the  blood-hounds  that  bark  for  thy  fugitive  king. 

Lo  !  anointed  by  Heaven  with  the  vials  of  wrath, 

Behold  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path  ! 

Now  in  darkness  and  billows,  he  sweeps  from  my  sight ; 

Rise,  rise  !  ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  his  flight ! — 

'Tis  finish'd  !     Their  thunders  are  hush'd  on  the  moors ; 

CuUoden  is  lost,  and  my  country  deplores  ! 

But  where  is  the  iron-bound  prisoner  ?     Where  ? — 

For  the  red  eye  of  battle  is  shut  in  despair. 

Say.  mounts  he  the  ocean-wave,  banish'd.  forlorn. 

Like  a  limb  from  liis  country  cast  bleeding  and  torn  ? 

Ah  no  !  for  a  darker  departure  is  near ; 

The  war-drum  is  muffled,  and  black  is  the  bier ; 

His  death-bell  is  tolHng  !     Oh  !  Mercy,  dispel 

Yon  sight,  that  it  freezes  my  bosom  to  tell ! 

Life  flutters  convulsed  in  his  quivering  limbs, 

And  his  blood-streaming  nostril  in  agony  swims. 

Accurs'd  be  the  faggots  that  blaze  at  his  feet, 

Where  his  heart  shall  be  thrown  ere  it  ceases  to  beat, 

With  the  smoke  of  its  ashes  to  poison  the  gale 

Loc. — Down,  soothless  insulter  !     I  trust  not  the  tale  : 
For  never  shall  Albin  a  destiny  meet, 
So  black  with  dishonor,  so  foul  with  retreat. 
Though  my  perishing  ranks  should  be  strew'd  in  their  gore. 
Like  ocean-weeds  heap'd  on  the  surf-beaten  shore, 
Lochiel.  untainted  by  flight  or  by  chains. 
While  the  kindling  of  life  in  his  bosom  remains. 
Shall  victor  exult  or  in  death  be  laid  low — 
With  his  back  to  the  field,  and  his  feet  to  the  foe ! 
And.  leaving  in  battle  no  blot  on  his  name, 
Look  proudly  to  heaven  from  the  death-bed  of  fame ! 


320  PRACTICE    OF   ELOCUTION. 


CATO  ON  THE  SOUL'S  IMMORTALITY.— Addison. 

[Cato  is  seated  with  Plato's  treatise  in  his  hand,  and  beside 
lum  his  sword. — The  e.rpression  should  be  solemn,  and  the 
declamation  of  a  loftj'  and  dignified  character.] 

It  must  be  so  !     Plato,  thou  reasonest  well : 
Else  whence  this  fond  desire,  this  pleasing  hope, 
This  longing  after  immortality  ? 
Or  whence  this  secret  dread,  and  inward  horror 
Of  falling  into  nought  ?     "WHiy  shrinks  the  soul 
Back  on  herself,  and  shudders  at  destruction  1 
'Tis  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us ; 
'Tis  heaven  itself  that  points  out  a  hereafter, 
And  intimates  eternity  to  man ! — 
Eternity !  thou  pleasing,  dreadful  thought ! — 
Through  what  variety  of  untried  being, 
Through  what  neAV  forms  and  changes  must  we  pass  ? 
The  wide,  the  unbounded  prospect  lies  before  me ; 
But  shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness  rest  upon  it. 

Here  will  I  hold If  there's  a  power  above, — 

And  that  there  is  all  Nature  cries  alovid 

Through  all  her  works, — he  must  delight  in  virtue ; 

And  that  which  he  delights  in  must  be  happy : 

But  when  ?  or  how  ? — This  world  was  made  for  Csesar. 

I'm  weary  of  conjectures ;  this  must  end  'em  ! 

(taking  up  the  sword.) 
Thus  am  I  doubly  arra'd :  my  life  and  death, 
My  bane  and  antidote,  are  both  before  me. 
This,  in  a  moment,  brings  me  to  an  end ; 
But  this  assures  me  I  shall  never  die  ! 
The  soul,  secure  in  her  existence,  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point. 
The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  Sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  Nature  sink  in  years, — 
Thou  Blill  ehaJt  flourish  in  eternal  youth, 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  821' 

Unhurt  amidst  the  war  of  elements, 

The  wreck  of  matter,  and  the  crush  of  worlds  ! 


MARC  ANTONY'S  APOSTROPHE*  TO    CESAR'S 
BODY.— Shaks. 

O  PARDON  me,  thou  bleeding  piece  of  earth, 
That  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers ! 
Thou  art  the  ruins  of  the  noblest  man 
That  ever  Hved  in  the  tide  of  times  ! 
Woe  to  the  hand  that  shed  this  costly  blood, 
Over  thy  wounds  now  do  I  prophesy. — 
Which,  like  dumb  mouths,  do  ope  their  ruby  lips, 
To  beg  the  voice  and  utterance  of  my  tongue, 
A  curse  shall  light  upon  the  line  of  men ; 
Domestic  fury,  and  fierce  civil  strife 
Shall  cumber  all  the  parts  of  Italy  ; 
Blood  and  destruction  shall  be  so  in  use, 
And  dreadful  objects  so  familiar, 
That  mothers  shall  but  smile,  when  they  behold 
Their  infants  quarter'd  with  the  hajids  of  war ; — 
All  pity  chok'd  with  custom  of  fell  deeds ; — 
And  Caesar's  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge. 
With  Atef  by  his  side,  come  hot  from  hell, 
Shall  in  these  confines,  with  a  monarch's  voice, 
Cry  Havoc,  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war ; — 
That  this  foul  deed  shall  smell  above  the  earth 
With  carrion  men  groaning  for  burial ! 

*  This  apostrophe  is  a  fine  practice  in  intonation  and  power- 
ful and  impassioned  declamation.  The  speaker  should  com- 
mence in  the  deep,  solemn  tone  of  grief;  making  a  burst  of 
passion  as  he  prophesies  the  curse  that  is  to  follow ;  and  in- 
crease in  energy  till  he  reach  the  climax  at  the  close. 

2    B 

t  Pronounced  Ate — the  goddess  of  discord. 
o* 


322  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

SCENE   FROM  JULIUS  C.^SAR.— Shaks. 

BRUTUS — CASSIUS. 

Cos. — Will  you  go  see  the  order  of  the  course  ? 

^n«.— Not  I. 

Cos. — I  pray  you.  do. 

Btm. — I  am  not  gamesome ;  I  do  lack  some  part 
or  that  quick  spirit  that  is  in  Antony. 
Let  me  not  hinder,  Cassius,  your  desires : 
I'll  leave  you. 

Cos. — Brutus,  I  do  observe  you  now  of  late  ; 
I  have  not  from  your  eyes  that  gentleness, 
And  show  of  love,  as  I  was  wont  to  have : 
You  bear  too  stubborn  and  too  strange  a  hand 
Over  your  friend  that  loves  you. 

Brii. — Cassius, 
Be  not  deceived  :  If  I  have  veil'd  my  look, 
I  turn  the  trouble  of  my  countenance 
Merely  upon  myself     Vexed  I  am. 
Of  late,  with  passions  of  some  difierence, 
Conceptions  only  proper  to  myself 
Which  give  some  soil,  perhaps,  to  my  behaviours  ; 
Bnt  let  not  therefore  my  good  friends  be  grieved ; 
Among  which  number,  Cassius,  be  you  one ; 
Nor  construe  any  further  my  neglect, 
Than  that  poor  Brutus,  with  himself  at  war, 
Forgets  the  shows  of  love  to  other  men. 

Cos. — Then.  Brutus,  I  have  much  mistook  your  passion; 
By  means  wiiereof  this  breast  of  mine  hath  buried 

Thoughts  of  great  value,  wortliy  cogitations. 

Tell  me,  good  Brutus,  can  you  see  your  face  ? 

Bru. — No,  Cassius  ;  for  the  eye  sees  not  itself, 
But  by  reflection,  by  some  other  things. 

Co.?.— 'Tis  just: 
And  it  is  very  much  lamented,  Brutus, 
That  you  have  no  such  mirror,  as  will  turn 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  323 

Your  hidden  worthiness  into  your  eye, 
That  you  might  see  your  shadow — I  have  heard, 
Where  many  of  the  best  respect  in  Rome — 
Except  immortal  Caesar — speaking  of  Brutus, — 
And  groaning  underneath  this  age's  yoke, 
Have  wish'd  that  noble  Brutus  had  his  eyes. 

Bru. — Into  what  dangers  would  you  lead  me,  Cassius, 
That  you  would  have  me  seek  into  myself 
For  thaifcvhich  is  not  in  me  ? 

Cas. — Therefore,  good  Brutus,  be  prepared  to  hear : 
And,  since  you  know  you  cannot  see  yourself 
So  well  as  by  reflection,  I,  your  glass, 
Will  modestly  discover  to  yourself 
That  of  yourself  which  you  yet  know  not  of. 
And  be  not  jealous  of  me,  gentle  Brutus: 
Were  I  a  common  laugher,  or  did  use 
To  stale  with  ordinary  oaths  my  love 
To  every  new  protester :  if  you  know 
That  I  do  fawn  on  men,  and  hug  them  hard, 
And,  after,  scandal  them :  or  if  you  know 
That  I  profess  myself  in  banquetting 
To  all  the  rout,  then  hold  me  dangerous, 

Bru. — What  means  this  shouting  ? — I  do  fear  the  people 
Choose  Csesar  for  their  king. 

Cos. — Ay,  do  you  fear  it? 
Then  must  I  think,  you  would  not  have  it  so. 

Bru. — I  would  not.  Cassius;  yet  I  love  him  well:— 
But,  wherefore  do  you  hold  me  here  so  long  1 
What  is  it  that  you  would  impart  to  me  ? 
If  it  be  aught  toward  the  general  good. 
Set  honor  in  one  eye,  and  death  i'  the  other, 
And  I  will  look  on  both  indifferently : 
For  let  the  gods  so  speed  me,  as  I  love 
The  name  of  honor  more  than  I  fear  death. 

Cos. — I  know  that  virtue  to  be  in  you,  Brutus, 
As  well  as  I  do  know  your  outward  favor. 
Well,  honor  is  the  subject  of  my  story. — 


324  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

1  cannot  tell,  what  you  and  other  men 

Think  of  this  life  ;  but,  for  my  single  self, 

I  had  as  lief  not  be,  as  live  to  be 

In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 

I  was  born  free  as  Csesar ;  so  were  you ; 

We  both  have  fed  as  well ;  and  we  can  both 

Endure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he : 

For  once,  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 

The  troubled  Tyber  chafing  with  his  shores,  ( 

Caesar  said  tome,  "Dar'st  thou.  Cassius,  now. 

Leap  in  with  me  into  this  angry  flood, 

And  swim  to  yonder  point  ?" — Upon  the  word, 

Accoutred  as  I  was,  1  plunged  in. 

And  bade  him  follow :  so,  indeed,  lie  did. 

The  torrent  roar'd  ;  and  we  did  butfet  it 

With  lusty  sinews,  throwing  it  aside. 

And  stemming  it  with  hearts  of  controversy. 

But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  proposed, 

Csesar  cried,  "  Help  me,  Cassius,  or  I  sink." 

I — as  ^neas,  our  great  ancestor, 

Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy,  upon  his  shoulders, 

The  old  Anchises  bear,  so,  from  tiie  waves  of  Tyber, 

Did  1  the  tired  Csesar :  And  this  man 

Is  now  become  a  god  ;  and  Cassius  is 

A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 

If  CjEsar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 

He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 

And  when  the  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 

How  he  did  shake :  'tis  true,  this  god  did  shake ; 

His  cowtird  lips  did  from  their  color  fly  ; 

And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world, 

Did  lose  its  lustre  :  I  did  hear  him  groan  : 

Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Romans 

Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 

Alas,  it  cried,  "  Give  me  some  drink,  Titinius," 

As  a  sick  girl.     Ye  gods  !  it  dotli  amaze  me, 

A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  should 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  325 

So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world, 

And  bear  the  palm  alone. 

Bni. — Another  general  shout ! 

I  do  believe,  that  these  applauses  are 

For  some  new  honors  that  are  heap'd  on  Caesar. 

Cos. — Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world, 

Like  a  Colossus  ;  and  we,  petty  men. 

Walk  under  his  huge  legs  and  peep  about, 

To  find  ourselves  dishonorable  graves. 

Men  at  some  times  are  masters  of  their  fates : 

The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 

But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 

Brutus,  and  Csesar :  What  should  be  in  that  Caesar  ? 

Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours  ? 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name ; 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy ;  conjure  with  'em, 
Brutus  will  .start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Caesar. — 
Now,  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed, 
That  he  has  grown  so  great  ?     Age,  thou  art  shamed : 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods ! 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  tlie  great  flood. 
But  it  Avas  famed  with  more  than  with  one  man ! 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talk'd  of  Rome, 
That  her  wide  walls  encompass'd  but  one  man? 
Oh  !  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say. 
There  was  a  Brutus  once,  that  would  have  brook'd 
The  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome, 
As  easily  as  a  king. 

Bru. — That  you  do  love  me,  I  am  nothing  jealous ; 
What  you  would  work  me  to,  I  have  some  aim : 
How  I  have  thought  of  this,  and  of  these  times, 
I  shall  recount  hereafter  ;  for  this  present, 
I  would  not — so  with  love  I  might  entreat  you — 
Be  any  further  moved.     What  you  have  said, 
I  will  consider ;  what  you  have  to  say, 


32G  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

I  will  with  patience  hear ;  and  find  a  time 

Both  meet  to  hear  and  answer  such  high  things. — 

Till  then,  my  noble  friend,  chew  upon  tliis ; 

Brutus  had  rather  be  a  villager, 

Than  to  repute  himself  a  son  of  Rome, 

Under  these  hard  conditions  as  this  time 

Is  like  to  lay  upon  us. 


SHYLOCK  TO  ANTONIO.— Shaks. 

[The  expression  should  be  of  bitter  sarcasm.'] 

SiGNOR  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft, 
In  the  Rialto  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  monies,  and  my  usances: 
Still  have  I  borne  it  with  a  patient  shrug  ; 
For  sufferance  is  the  badge  of  all  our  tribe  : 
You  call  me — misbehever,  cut-throat  dog, 
And  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gaberdine  ; 
And  all  for  use  of  that  which  is  mine  own. 
Well,  then,  it  now  ajjpears  you  need  my  help : 
Go  to,  then — You  come  to  me,  and  you  say 
"  Shylock,  we  would  have  monies."     You  say  so ; 
You,  that  did  void  your  rheum  upon  my  beard, 
And  foot  me,  as  you  spurn  a  stranger  cur 
Over  your  threshold  :  monies  is  your  suit. 
What  should  I  say  to  you  ?     Should  I  not  say 
'•  Hath  a  dog  money  ?     Is  it  possible 
A  cur  can  lend  tliree  thousand  ducats  ?"     Or 
Shall  I  bend  low.  and  in  a  bondsman's  key, 
With  'bated  breath,  and  whispering  humbleness, 
Say  this — 

"  Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  me  on  Wednesday  last ; 
You  spurn'd  me  such  a  day ;  another  time 
You  call'd  me — dog ;  and  for  these  courtesiea 
I'll  lend  you  thus  much  monies." 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  327 


HENRY  IVth's  APOSTROPHE  TO  SLEEP.— Shaks. 

How  many  thousands  of  my  poorest  subjects 
Are  at  this  hour  asleep  !     O  Sleep^  O  gentle  Sleep, 
Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  frighted  thee, 
That  thou  no  more  wilt  weigh  my  eyelids  down, 
And  steep  my  senses  in  forgetfulness  ? 
Why  rather,  Sleep,  liest  thou  m  smoky  cribs, 
Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee. 
And  hush'd  with  buzzing  night-flies  to  thy  slumber, 
Than  in  the  perfumed  chambers  of  the  great, 
Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state. 
And  lull'd  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody  ? 
O  thou  dull  god,  why  liest  thou  with  the  vile. 
In  loathsome  beds ;  and  leav'st  the  kingly  couch, 
A  watch-case,  or  a  common  'larum-bell  1 
Wilt  thou,  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast, 
Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 
In  cradle  of  the  rude,  imperious  surge, 
And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds, 
Who  take  the  ruffian  billows  by  the  top, 
Curling  their  monstrous  heads,  and  hanging  them 
With  deafening  clamors  in  the  slippery  clouds, 
That,  with  the  hurly,  death  itself  awakes  7 
Canst  thou,  O  partial  Sleep !  give  thy  repose 
To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude ; 
And.  in  the  calmest  and  most  stillest  night,     • 
With  all  appliances  and  means  to  boot. 
Deny  it  to  a  king  ?    Then,  happy  low,  lie  down ! 
Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown. 


THE  SEVEN  AGES.— Shaks. 

All  the  Avorld's  a  stage ; 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players. 


328  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances, 
And  one  man,  in  liis  time,  plays  many  parts, 
His  acts  being  seven  ages.     At  first,  the  infant^ 
MewHng  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms : 
Then  the  whining  schoolboy,  with  his  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping,  Uke  snail, 
Unwillingly  to  school.     And  then,  the  lover, 
Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eye-brow :  Then,  a  soldier ; 
Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 
Jealous  in  honor,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel. 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation, 
Ev'n  in  the  cannon's  mouth :  And  then,  the  justice ; 
In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lined. 
With  eyes  severe,  aud  beard  of  formal  cut, 
Full  of  wise  saws,  and  modern  instances. 
And  so  he  plays  his  part :   The  sixth  age  shifts 
Into  the  lean  and  slipper'd  pantaloon. 
With  spectacles  on  nose  and  pouch  on  side  ; 
His  youthful  hose,  well  sav'd,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank,  and  his  big  manly  voice. 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound : — Last  scene  of  all, 
That  ends  this  strange,  eventful  history, 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion ; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  everything ! 


SCENE  FROM  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  "ION." 

Talfourd. 

The  Royal  Chamber.     Adrastus  on  a  couch,  asleep. 
Enter  Ion,  with  a  knife. 
Io7i. — Why  do  I  creep  thus  stealthily  along 
With  trembling  steps  ?    Am  I  not  arm'd  by  Heaven, 
To  execute  its  mandate  on  a  king 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  329 

Whom  it  hath  doom'd  ?     And  shall  I  falter  now, 

While  every  moment  that  he  breathes  may  crush 

Some  life  else  happy  ?     Can  I  be  deceived 

By  some  foul  passion,  crouching  in  my  soul, 

Which  takes  a  radiant  tbrm  to  lure  me  on  ? 

Assure  me,  gods  ! — Yes  ;  I  have  heard  your  voices 

For  I  dare  pray  ye  now  to  nerve  my  arm 

And  see  me  strike  !  \^He  goes  to  the  couch.'] 

He's  smilmg  in  his  slumber, 
As  if  some  happy  thought  of  innodent  days 
Play'd  at  his  heart-strings  :  must  I  scare  it  thence 
With  Death's  sharp  agony  ? — He  lies  condemn'd 
By  the  high  judgment  of  supernal  Powers, 
And  he  shall  know  their  sentence.     Wake,  Adrastus ! 
Collect  thy  spirits  and  be  strong  to  die  ! 

Adras, — Who  dares  disturb  my  rest  ?     Guards  !     Soldiers  ! 
Recreants ! 
Where  tarry  ye  1    Why  smite  ye  not  to  earth 
This  bold  intruder  ?    Ha  !  no  weapon  here  ! — 
What  wouldst  thou  with  me,  ruffian  ?  [^Rising.'] 

Ion. — I  am  none  ; 
But  a  sad  instrument  in  Jove's  great  hand, 
To  take  thy  life,  long  forfeited — Prepare  ! 
Thy  hour  is  come ! 

Adras. — Villains  !  does  no  one  hear  ? 

Ion. — Vex  not  the  closing  minutes  of  thy  being 
With  torturing  hope  or  idle  rage  ;  thy  guards, 
Palsied  with  revelry,  are  scatter'd  senseless. 
While  the  most  valiant  of  our  Argive  youths 
Hold  every  passage  by  which  human  aid 
Could  reach  thee.     Present  death  is  the  award 
Of  Powers  who  watch  above  me,  while  I  stand 
To  execute  their  sentence. 

Adras. — Thou ! — I  know  thee — 
The  youth  I  spared  this  morning,  in  whose  ear 
I  pour'd  the  secrets  of  my  bosom.     Kill  me, 
If  thou  dar'st  do  it ;  but  bethink  thee  first 


330  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

How  the  grim  memory  of  thy  thankless  deed 
Will  haunt  thee  to  the  grave  I 

Ion. — It  is  most  true  ; 
Thou  spar'dst  my  life,  and  therefore  do  the  gods 
Ordain  me  to  this  office,  lest  thy  fall 
Seem  the  chance  forfeit  of  some  single  sin, 
And  not  the  great  redress  of  Argos.     Now — 
Now,  while  I  parley — spirits  that  have  left, 
Within  this  hour,  their  plague-tormented  flesh 
To  rot  untomb'd,  glide  by,  and  frown  on  me, 
Their  slow  avenger, — and  the  chamber  swarms 
With  looks  of  Furies. — Yet  a  moment  wait,  • 
Ye  dreadful  prompters !     If  there  is  a  friend, 
Whom  dying  thou  wouldst  greet  by  word  or  token, 
Speak  thy  last  bidding. 

Adras. — I  have  none  on  earth. 
If  thou  hast  courage,  end  me  ! 

Ion. — Not  one  friend ! 
Most  piteous  doom  ! 

Adras. — Art  melted  ? 

Ion. — If  I  am, 
Hope  nothing  from  my  weakness  ;  mortal  arms, 
And  eyes  unseen  that  sleep  not,  gird  us  round, 
And  we  shall  fall  together.     Be  it  so ! 

Adras. — No ;  strike  at  once  ;  my  hour  is  come :  in  thee 
I  recognise  the  minister  of  Jove, 
And,  kneeling  thus,  submit  me  to  his  power.  [Adra^tus  kneels.'] 

Ion. — Avert  thy  face  ! 

Adras. — No  ;  let  me  meet  thy  gaze ; 
For  breathing  pity  lights  thy  features  up 
Into  more  awfvil  likeness  of  a  form 
Wiiich  once  shone  on  me  ; — and  which  now  my  sense 
Shapes  palpable — in  habit  of  the  grave, 
Inviting  me  to  the  sad  realm  where  shades 
Of  innocents,  whom  passionate  regard 
Link'd  with  the  guilty,  are  content  to  pace 
With  them  the  margin  of  the  inky  flood, 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  831 

Mournful  and  calm  ;^'tis  surely  there  ; — she  waves 
Her  pallid  hand  in  circle  o'er  thy  head, 
As  if  to  bless  thee — and  I  bless  tliee  too. 
Death's  gracious  angel !     Do  not  turn  away. 

Ion. — Gods  !  to  what  office  have  ye  doom'd  me  ! — Now  ! 

[Ion  raises  his  arm  to  slab  Adrastus,  who  is  kneel- 
ing, and  gazes  steadfastly  upon  him.     The  voice 
of  Medon  is  heard  without,  calling  •'  Ion  !  Ion !" — 
Ion  drops  his  arm.'] 
Adras. — Be  quick,  or  thou  art  lost ! 

[Medon  rushes  in  behind  him.'] 
Medon. — Ion,  forbear  ! 
Behold  thy  son.  Adrastus  1 

[Ion  drops  the  knife  and  stands  stupified  with  horror.] 
Adras. — What  strange  words 
Are  these  which  call  my  senses  from  the  death 
They  were  composed  to  welcome  ? — Son  !  'tis  false — 
I  had  but  one — and  the  deep  wave  rolls  o'er  him ! 

Medon. — That  wave  received,  instead  of  the  fair  nurseling, 
One  of  the  slaves  who  bore  him  from  thy  sight 
In  wicked  haste  to  slay  ;  I'll  give  thee  proofs. 
Adras. — Great  Jove,  I  thank  thee  ! — proofs  ! 
Are  there  not  here  the  lineaments  of  her 
Who  made  me  happy  once — the  voice,  now  still, 
That  bade  the  long-seal'd  fount  of  love  gush  out, 
While  with  a  prince's  constancy  he  came 
To  lay  his  noble  life  down  ;  and  the  sure, 
The  dreadtul  proof  that  he  whose  guileless  brow 
Is  instinct  with  her  spirit,  stood  above  me, 
Arm'd  for  the  traitor's  deed  ? — It  is  my  child  ! 

[loN  sinks  on  one  knee  before  Adrastus.] 
Ion. — Father !  [A  noise  without.] 

Medon. — The  clang  of  arms ! 
Ion,  (starting  up.) — They  comel  they  come! 
They  who  are  leagued  with  me  against  thy  Ufe. 
Here  let  us  fall! 

Adras. — I  will  confront  them  yet 


332  PRACTICE  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Within  I  have  a  weapon  whicli  has  drunk 

A  traitor's  blood  ere  now ; — there  will  I  wait  for  them. 

No  power  less  strong  than  death  shall  part  us  now  ! 

[  Tkey  go  in  together.^ 


aUARREL  SCENE  FROM  JULIUS  CiESAR.— Shaks. 

[In  this  dialogue,  the  manner  of  Brutus  should  be  dignified, 
and  sarcastic ;  while  that  of  Cassiits  should  be  quick,  impetu- 
ous, and  passionate."] 

CAS3ICS    AND    BRUTUS, 

Cos. — That  you  have  wrong'd  me  doth  appear  in  this: 
You  have  condemn'd  and  noted  Lucius  Pella, 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians, — 
Wherein,  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side, 
(Because  I  knew  the  man,)  were  slighted  off. 

Bru. — You  wrong'd  yourself  to  write  in  such  a  case. 

Cos. — In  such  a  time  as  this,  it  is  not  meet 
That  every  nice  offence  should  bear  his  comiment. 

Bru. — Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
Are  much  condemn'd  to  have  an  itching  palm  ; 
To  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold 
To  undeservers. 

Cos. — I  an  itching  palm  ! — 
You  know  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  that  speech  were  else  your  last. 

Bru. — The  name  of  Cassius  honors  this  corruption, 
And  chastisement  doth  therefore  hide  his  head. 

Cos. — Chastisement ! 

Bru. — Remember  March — the  ides  of  March  remember! 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake  ? 
What  villain  touch'd  his  body,  that  did  stab, 
And  not  for  justice  ?     What,  shall  one  of  us, 
That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world, 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  338 

But  for  supporting  robbers — shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes, 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honors 
For  so  much  trash,  as  may  be  grasped  thus  1 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cas. — Brutus,  bay  not  me  , 
I'll  not  endure  it :  I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 

Bru. — Go  to  ;  you're  not,  Cassius. 

Cas. — I  am. 

Dm. — I  say.  you  are  not. 

Cas. — Urge  me  no  more  :  I  shall  forget  myself: 
Have  mind  upon  your  health,  tempt  me  no  further, 

Bru. — Away,  slight  man ! 

Cas. — Is't  possible  1 

Bru. — Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. — 
Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler  ? 
Shall  I  be  frighted  when  a  madman  stares  1 

Cas. — Ye  gods !  ye  gods  !     Must  I  endure  all  this  ? 

Bni. — All  this  ?  ay,  more. — Fret,  till  your  proud  heart  break. — 
Go,  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are, 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble  :  Must  I  budge  ? 
Must  I  observe  you  1     Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humor ! — By  the  gods  ! 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen. 
Though  it  do  split  you :  for,  from  this  day  forth, 
I'll  use  you  for  my  mirth — yea,  for  my  laughter — 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Cas. — Is  it  come  to  this  ? 

Bru. — You  say,  you  are  a  better  soldier : 
Let  it  appear  so  ;  make  your  vaunting  true, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well :  for  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cas. — You  wrong  me,  ev^ery  way  you  wTong  me,  Brutus ; 


334  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

I  said,  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better ! — 
Did  I  say  better  ? 

Bru. — If  you  did  I  care  not. 

Cos. — When  Caesar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have  moved  me. 

Bru. — Peace,  peace ;  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted  him. 

Ccis. — I  durst  not  ? 

Bru.— 1^0. 

Cos. — What  ?  durst  not  tempt  him  1 

Bru. — For  your  life,  you  durst  not. 

Cas. — Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love  ; 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 

Bru. — You  have  done  that  you  should  be  sorry  for. 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats  j 
For  I  am  anu'd  so  strong  in  honesty. 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind 
Which  I  respect  not.     I  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  denied  me ; 
For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means : 
By  heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart, 
And  drop  my  blood  for  drachmas,  than  to  wring 
From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash, 
By  any  indirection.     I  did  send 
To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions. 
Which  you  denied  me :  Was  that  done  like  Cassius  ? 
Should  I  have  answer'd  Caius  Cassius  so  ? — 
When  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous. 
To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends, 
Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts, 
Dash  him  to  pieces ! 

Cas. — I  denied  you  not. 

Bru. — You  did. 

Cas. — I  did  not : — He  was  but  a  fool 
That  brought  my  answer  back. — Brutus  hath  rived  my  hcEirt : 
A  friend  should  bear  a  friend's  infirmities. 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  they  are. 

Bru. — I  do  not, — till  you  practise  them  on  me. 


DRAMATIC    PIECES-  335 

Cos. — You  love  me  not. 

Bru. — I  do  not  like  your  faults. 

Cas. — A  friendly  eye  could  never  see  such  faults. 

Bru. — A  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they  do  appear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 

Cas. — Come,  Antony,  and,  young  Octavius,  come, 
Revenge  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius, 
B^or  Cassius  is  aweary  of  the  world : 
Hated  by  one  he  loves  ;  braved  by  his  brother ; 
Check'd  like  a  bondman :  all  his  faults  observed, 
Set  in  a  note-book,  learn'd,  and  conn'd  by  rote. 
To  cast  into  my  teeth.     O,  I  could  weep 
My  spirit  from  mine  eyes  ! — There  is  my  dagger, 
And  here  my  naked  breast :  within,  a  heart 
Dearer  than  Plutus'  mine,  richer  than  gold : 
If  that  thou  be'^t  a  Roman,  take  it  forth ; 
I,  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart : 
Strike,  as  thou  didst  at  Cssar :  for,  I  know. 
When  thou  didst  hate  him  worst,  thou  lov'dst  him  better 
Than  ever  thou  lov'dst  Cassius. 

BriL — Sheath  yonr  dagger : 
Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope ; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonor  shall  be  humor.  ' 

O,  Cassius,  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb 
Thai  carries  anger,  as  the  flint  bears  fire  ; 
Who,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark. 
And  straight  is  cold  again. 

Cas. — Hath  Cassius  lived 
To  be  but  mirth  and  laughter  to  his  Brutus, 
When  grief,  and  blood  ill-temper'd,  vexeth  him  ? 

Bru. — Wlien  I  spoke  that.  I  was  ill-temper'd  too. 

Cas. — Do  you  confess  so  much  ?     Give  me  your  hand. 

Bru. — And  my  heart  too  !  [  They  embrace.  \ 

Cas.—O,  Brutus  ! 

Bm. — Wliat's  the  matter  ? 

Cas. — Have  not  you  love  enough  to  bear  \^nth  me, 


336  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTiaN. 

When  that  rash  humor  which  my  mother  gave  me, 
Makes?  me  forgetful  ? 

Dru. — Yes,  Cassius ;  and  henceforth, 
When  you  are  over-earnest  with  your  Brutus, 
He'll  think  your  mother  chides,  and  leave  you  so. 


BOBADIL'S  MILITARY  TACTICS— Ben  Jonson. 

[With  the  bombastic  expression  of  an  empty  braggart.] 

I  WILL  tell  you,  Sir,  by  the  way  of  private  and  under  seal^ 
I  am  a  gentleman,  and  live  here  obscure  and  to  myself;  but, 
were  I  known  to  his  majesty  and  the  lords,  observe  me,  I  would 
undertake,  upon  this  poor  head  and  life,  for  the  public  benefit 
of  the  state,  not  only  to  spare  the  entire  lives  of  his  subjects  in 
general,  but  to  save  the  one  half,  nay,  three  parts  of  his  yearly 
charge  in  holding  war,  and  against  what  enemy  soever.  And 
how  would  I  do  it,  think  you  ?  Wliy  thus,  sir.  I  would  se- 
lect nineteen  more  to  myself;  gentlemen  they  should  be.  of  a 
good  spirit,  strong  and  able  constitution ;  I  would  choose  them 
by  an  instinct,  a  character  that  I  have :  and  I  would  teach 
these  nineteen  the  special  rules,  as  your  Punto,  your  Reverso, 
your  Stoccato,  your  Imbrocato,  your  Passado,  your  Montanto  ;* 
till  they  could  all  play  very  near,  or  altogether  as  well  as  my- 
self This  done,  say  the  enemy  were  forty  thousand  strong, 
we  twenty  would  come  into  the  field  the  tenth  of  March  or 
thereabouts ;  and  we  would  challenge  twenty  of  the  enemy ; 
they  could  not  in  their  honor  refuse  us !  Well,  we  would  kill 
them  ;  challenge  twenty  more,  kill  tkem  ;  twenty  more,  kill  them; 
twenty  more,  kill  them  too :  and  thus  would  we  kill,  every  man 
his  twenty  a  day,  that's  twenty  score  ;  twenty  score,  that's  two 
hundred  ;  two  hundred  a  day,  five  days  a  thousand  :  forty  thou- 
sand— forty  times  five,  five  times  forty, — two  hundred  days 
kills  them  all  up  by  computation.     And  this  I  will  venture  my 

*  Terms  of  the  Fencing-School. 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  337 

poor  gentleman-like  carcase  to  perform,  (provided  there  be  no 
treason  practised  upon  us)  by  discreet  manhood,  that  is,  civilly 
by  the  sword. 


MARC  ANTONY'S  ORATION.— Shaks. 

Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears ; 
I  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him. 
The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them  ; 
The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones ; 
So  let  it  be  with  Csesar.     The  noble  Brutus 
Hath  told  you,  Cgesar  was  ambitious  ; 
If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault ; 
And  grievously  hath  Csesar  answered  it. 
Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest — 
(For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 
So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men) — 
Come  I  to  speak  in  Csesar's  funeral. 
He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me : 
But  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious ; 
And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 
He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 
Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill : 
Did  this  in  Csesar  seem  ambitious  ! 
When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Ca'sar  hath  wept : 
Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff — 
Yet  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious  ; 
And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 
You  all  did  see  that,  on  the  Lupercal, 
I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 
Whicli  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition '? 
Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 
And  sure  ho  is  an  honorable  man. 
I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 
But  liere  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 
You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause ; 
p 


^38  PRACTICE   OF   ELOCUTION. 

What  cause  withholds  yoii  then  to  mourn  for  him? 
O  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 
And  men  have  lost  their  reason  ! — Bear  with  me: 
My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Csesar, 
And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 
But  yesterday,  the  word  of  Csesar  might 
Have  stood  against  the  world :  now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  masters !  if  I  Avere  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men : 

I  will  not  do  them  vs^rong ;  I  rather  choose 

To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myselt^  and  you, 

Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men. 

But  here's  a  parchment,  with  tlie  seal  of  Caesar, 

I  found  it  in  his  closet,  'tis  his  Avill : 

Let  but  the  commons  hear  his  testament, 

Which,  pardon  me,  1  do  not  mean  to  read, 

And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dear  Caesar's  wounds, 

And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood : 

Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory. 

And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 

Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy, 

Unto  their  issue. — 

If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle  ;  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on ; 
'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent, — 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii : — 
Look,  in  this  place,  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through : 
See,  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made : 
Through  this,  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabb'd; 
And,  as  he  pluck'd  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Csesar  followed  it, 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolv'd 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knock'd,  or  no ! 
Foi'  BnitUK.  as  you  know,  was  CspHar'R  angel: 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  339 

Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him  ! 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all : 
For  when  the  noble  Csesar  saw  him  stab. 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 
Quite  vanquish'd  him  :  then  burst  his  mighty  heart; 
And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 
Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue, 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Csesar  fell. 
O,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  ! 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
Whilst  bloody  treason  fiourish'd  over  us. — 
O,  now  you  weep ;  and,  I  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity  ;  these  are  gracious  drops  ; 
Kind  souls !     Whai^  weep  you,  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  ?    Look  you  here, 
Here  is  himself,  marr'd,  as  you  see,  with  traitors. — 
Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny. 
They  that  have  done  this  deed,  are  honorable ; 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas !  I  know  not, 
That  made  them  do  it :  They  are  wise  and  honorable : 
And  will,  no  doubt,  Avith  reasons  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts : 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is ; 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain  blunt  man, 
That  love  my  friend  :  and  that  they  know  full  well 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him  ; 
For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech. 
To  stir  men's  blood.     I  only  speak  right  on  ; 
I  tell  you  that,  which  you  yourselves  do  know ; 
Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  poor  dumb  mouths, 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me  :     But,  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 
Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Caesar,  that  should  move 
The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny  ! 


340  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

SCENE  FROM  VENICE  PRESERVED.— Otwat. 

[Duke,  (seated  in  the  centre.)  with  Senators  seated  on  each 
side.  Pierre,  in  chains,  in  front  on  the  left  Renault  and 
others  in  chains,  near  him.] 

Pier. — You,  my  lords,  and  fathers, 
(As  you  are  pleas'd  to  call  yourselves.)  of  Venice; 
If  you  sit  here  to  guide  the  course  of  justice. 
Why  these  disgraceful  chains  upon  the  limbs 
That  have  so  often  labor'd  in  your  service  1 
Are  these  the  wreaths  of  triumph  you  bestow 
On  those  that  bring  you  conque.st  home,  and  honors? 

Duke. — Go  on :  you  shall  be  heard,  sir. 

Pier. — Are  these  the  trophies  I've  deserv'd  for  fighting 
Your  battles  with  confederated  powers  ? 
Wlien  winds  and  seas  conspir'd  to  overthrow  you. 
And  brought  the  fleets  of  Spain  to  your  OAvn  harbors ; 
When  you,  great  duke,  shrunk  trembling  in  your  palace ; 
Stepp'd  not  I  forth,  and  taught  your  loose  Venetians 
The  task  of  honor,  and  the  way  to  greatness  ? 
Rais'd  you  from  your  capitulating  fears 
To  stipulate  the  terms  of  sued-for  peace  ? 
And  this  my  recompense  !     If  I'm  a  traitor, 
Produce  my  charge ;  or  show  the  Avretch  that's  base, 
And  brave  enough  to  tell  me,  I'r«  a  traitor  t 

Duke. — Know  you  one  Jaffier  ? 

Pier. — Yes,  and  know  his  virtue  : 
His  justice,  truth,  his  general  worth,  and  sufferings 
From  a  hard  father,  taught  me  first  to  love  him. 

Duke. — See  him  brought  forth. 

Enter  Jaffier  (in  chains.) 

Pier. — My  friend  too  bound  !     Nay,  then 
Our  fate  has  conquer'd  us,  and  we  must  fall. 
Why  droops  the  man,  whose  welfare's  so  much  mine, 
They're  but  one  thing  ?     These  reverend  tyrants,  Jaffier 
Call  us  traitors.     Art  thou  one,  my  brother  ? 


DRA3IATIC    PIECES.  341 

Jaff. — To  thee  I  am  the  falsest,  veriest  slave, 
Who  e'er  betray'd  a  generous,  trusting  friend, 
And  gave  up  honor  to  be  sure  of  ruin. 
All  our  fair  hopes,  which  morning  was  t'  have  crown'd, 
Has  this  curs'd  tongue  o'erthrown. 

Pier. — So,  then,  all's  over : 
Venice  has  lost  her  freedom,  I  my  life. 
No  more ! 

Duke. — Say ;  will  you  make  confession 
Of  your  vile  deeds,  and  trust  the  senate's  mercy  ? 

Pier. — Curs'd  be  your  senate,  curs'd  your  constitution  ! 
The  curse  of  growing  factions,  and  divisions. 
Still  vex  your  councils,  shake  your  public  safety, 
And  make  the  robes  of  government  you  wear 
Hateful  to  you,  as  these  vile  chains  to  me  ! 

Duke. — Pardon,  or  death  ? 

Pier. — Death  !  honorable  death  ! 

Ren. — Death's  the  best  thing  we  ask,  or  you  can  give. 
No  shameful  bonds,  but  honorable  death  ! 

Duke. — Break  up  the  council.     Captain,  guard  your  prisoners. 
Jaffier,  you're  free,  the  rest  must  wait  for  judgment. 

[Duke,  Senators,  Conspirators,  and  Oncers,  go  out.'] 

Pier. — Come,  where's  my  dungeon  1     Lead  me  to  my  straw  : 
It  will  not  be  the  first  time  I've  lodged  hard. 
To  do  your  senate  service. 

Jaff.— Hold  one  moment.  ^Meeting  Pierre.] 

Pier. — Who's  he  disputes  the  judgment  of  the  senate  1 
Presumptuous  rebel !     [Strikes  Jaffier.]     On ! 

Jaff. — By  Heaven,  you  stir  not ! 
I  must  be  heard  !     I  must  have  leave  to  speak. 
Thou  hast  disgrac'd  me,  Pierre,  by  a  vile  blow : 
Had  not  a  dagger  done  thee  nobler  justice  ? 
But  use  me  as  thou  wilt,  thou  canst  not  wrong  me, 
For  I  am  fallen  beneath  the  basest  injuries ; 
Yet  look  upon  me  with  an  eye  of  mercy, 
And,  as  there  d\vells  a  god-like  nature  in  thee, 
Listen  with  mildness  to  my  supplications. 


342  PRACTICE  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Pier. — What  whining  monk  art  thou  ?     What  holy  cheat, 
That  wouldst  encroach  upon  my  credulous  ears, 
And  cant'st  thus  vilely !     Hence  !     I  know  thee  not ! 

Jaff. — Not  know  me,  Pierre  ! 

Pier. — No,  know  thee  not.     What  art  thou  ? 

Jaff. — Jatlier.  thy  friend,  thy  once  loved,  valu'd  friend  ! 
rho'  now  deservedly  scorn'd,  and  us'd  most  hardly. 

Pier. — Thou,  Jaffier !  thou,  my  once-lov'd.  valu'd  friend ! 
By  heavens,  thou  ly'st ;  the  man  so  call'd  my  friend, 
AVas  generous,  honest,  faithful,  just,  and  valiant ; 
Noble  in  mind,  and  in  his  person  lovely ; 
Dear  to  my  eyes,  and  tender  to  my  heart : 
But  thou,  a  wretched,  base,  false,  worthless  coward, — 
Poor,  even  in  soul,  and  loathsome  in  thy  aspect : 
All  eyes  m\ist  shun  thee,  and  all  hearts  detest  thee. 
Pr'ythee  avoid,  nor  longer  cling  thus  round  me. 
Like  something  baneful,  that  my  nature's  chill'd  at. 

Jaff. — I  have  not  wrong'd  thee ;  by  these  tears  I  have  not. 

Pier. — Hast  thou  not  wrong'd  me  ?     Dar'st  thou  call  thyself 
That  once-lov'd,  honest,  valu'd  friend  of  mine. 
And  swear  thou  hast  not  wrong'd  me  ?     Whence  these  chains  ? 
Whence  this  dishonor,  but  from  thee,  thou  false  one  ? 

Jaff. — All's  true  ;  yet  grant  one  thing,  and  I've  done  asking. 

P?>r.— What's  that  ? 

Jaff. — To  take  thy  life,  on  such  conditions 
The  council  have  propos'd :  thou,  and  thy  friends, 
May  yet  live  long,  and  to  be  better  treated. 

Pier Life  !  ask  my  life  !  confess  !  record  myself 

A  villain,  for  the  privilege  to  breathe, 

And  carry  up  and  down  this  hated  city 

A  discontented  and  repining  spirit. 

Burdensome  to  itself,  a  few  years  longer ! 

To  lose  it.  may  be,  at  last,  in  a  base  quarrel 

For  some  new  friend,  treacherous  and  false  as  thou  art! 

No,  this  vile  world  and  I  have  long  been  jangling, 

And  cannot  part  on  better  terms  than  now, 

When  only  men  like  thee  are  fit  to  live  in't 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  343 

Jqf.— By  all  that's  just 

Pier. — Swear  by  some  other  power, 
For  thou  hast  broke  that  sacred  oath  too  lately. 

Jqff. — Then  by  that  doom  I  merit.  I'll  not  leave  thee 
Till,  to  thyself  at  least,  thou'rt  reconciled, 
However  thy  resentments  deal  with  me. 

Pier. — Not  leave  me ! 

Jaff. — No  ;  thou  shalt  not  force  me  from  thee. 
Use  me  reproachfully,  and  like  a  slave ; 
Tread  on  me.  buffet  me,  heap  wrongs  on  \sTongs 
On  my  poor  head  ;  I'll  bear  it  all  with  patience, 
Shall  weary  out  thy  most  unfriendly  cruelty  ; 
Till,  wounded  by  my  suflerings,  thou  relent, 
And  take  me  to  thy  arms,  with  dear  forgiveness. 

Pier. — Art  thou  not 

Jaff.— What  ? 

Pier. — A  traitor  ! 

Jqf.— Yes. 

Pier. — A  villain  ! 

Jaff. — Granted. 

Pier. — A  coward,  a  most  scandalous  coward ; 
Spiritless,  void  of  honor ;  one  who  has  sold 
Thy  everlasting  fame,  for  shameless  Ufe ! 

Jaff. — All,  all,  and  more,  much  more ;  my  faults  are  num- 
berless. 

Pier. — And  wouldst  thou  have  me  live  on  terms  like  thine  ? 
Base  as  thou'rt  false — 

Jaff. — No ;  'tis  to  me  that's  granted  ; 
The  safety  of  thy  life  was  all  I  aim'd  at, 
In  recompense  for  faith  and  trust  so  broken. 

Pier. — I  scorn  it  more,  because  preserved  by  thee  ; 
And.  as  when  first  my  foolish  heart  took  pity 
On  thy  misfortunes,  sought  thee  in  thy  miseries, 
Reliev'd  thy  wants,  and  rais'd  thee  from  the  state 
Of  wretchedness,  in  wliich  thy  fate  liad  plunged  thee. 
To  rank  thee  in  my  list  of  noble  friends ; 
All  I  receiv'd  in  surety  for  thy  truth, 


344  PRACTICE  OF  ELOCTTTION. 

Were  unregarded  oaths,  and  this,  this  dagger, — 

Given  with  a  worthless  pledge,  thou  since  hast  stol'n : 

So  I  restore  it  back  to  thee  again ; 

Swearing  by  all  those  powers  which  thou  hast  violated, 

Never,  from  this  curs'd  hour,  to  hold  communion. 

Friendship,  or  interest,  with  thee,  though  our  years 

Were  to  exceed  those  limited  the  world. 

Take  it — farewell ! — for  now  I  owe  thee  nothing. 

Jiiff- — Say  thou  wilt  live,  then. 

Pier. — For  my  life,  dispose  it 
Just  as  thou  wilt,  because  'tis  what  I  am  tired  with. 

Jaff.—O  Pierre ! 

Pier. — No  more  !  [  Going."] 

Jaff. — My  eyes  won't  lose  the  sight  of  thee,    [^Holding  him.'] 
But  languish  after  thine,  and  ache  with  gazing. 

Pier. — Leave  me — Nay,  then,  thus,  thus  I  throw  thee  from 
me.  [ Throws  him  off.] 

And  curses,  great  as  is  thy  falsehood,  catch  thee  ! 

[Pierre  rushes  out  on  the  right  side.    Jaffier  goes  out 
on  the  left.] 


ROLLA  TO  THE  PERUVIANS.— Sheridan. 

[In  a  very  bold,  energetic,  and  heroic  style.] 

My  brave  associates  !  partners  of  my  toil,  my  feelings,  and 
my  fame  !  Can  RoUa's  words  add  vigor  to  the  virtuous  energies 
which  inspire  your  liearts  ?  No  !  You  have  judged,  as  I  have, 
the  foulness  of  the  crafty  plea  by  which  these  bold  invaders  would 
delude  you.  Your  generous  spirits  have  compared,  as  mine  has, 
the  motives  which,  in  a  war  like  this,  can  animate  their  minds 
and  ours.  They,  by  a  strange  frenzy  driven,  fight  for  power, 
f(jr  plunder,  and  extended  rule  :  we  for  our  country,  our  altars, 
and  our  homes  I  They  follow  an  adventurer  whom  they  fear, 
and  obey  a  power  which  they  hate;  we  serve  a  monarch  whom 
we  love,  a  God  whom  we  adore ! — Whene'er  they  move  in 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  345 

anger,  desolation  tracks  their  progress :  wliene'er  they  pause  in 
amity,  affliction  mourns  their  friendship! — They  boast  they 
come  but  to  enlarge  our  minds,  and  free  us  from  the  yoke  of 
error.  Yes ;  they  will  give  enlightened  freedom  to  our  minds, 
who  are  themselves  the  slaves  of  passion,  avarice,  and  pride ! 
They  offer  us  their  protection.  Yes ;  such  protection  as  vul- 
tures give  to  lambs, — covering  and  devouring  them !  They 
call  on  us  to  barter  all  of  good  we  have  inherited  and  proved, 
for  the  desperate  chance  of  something  better  which  they  pro- 
mise. Be  our  plain  answer  this : — The  throne  we  honor  is  the 
people's  choice:  tlie  laws  we  reverence  are  our  brave  fore- 
father's legacy ;  the  faith  we  follow  teaches  us  to  live  in  peace 
with  all  mankind,  and  die  with  hopes  of  bliss  beyond  the  grave ! 
— Tell  your  invaders  this:  and  tell  them,  too,  we  seek  no 
change, — and,  least  of  all,  such  change  as  they  would  offer  us. 


SCENE  FROM  THE  COMEDY  OF  "MONEY." 

BCLAVER. 

[In  dialogues  like  the  following,  which  are  supposed  to  be 
copies  of  the  conversation  of  ordinary  life,  the  style  of  the 
speaker  should  be  easy,  animated,  unrestrained,  and  free  from 
effort  and  declamation.  Practice  of  this  kind  will  tend  to  give 
grace  and  variety  to  his  elocution.] 

Scene — Evelyn's  house  in  London. 

Evelyn,  a  rich  man  of  fashion — Stout  and  Glossmore, 
violent  politicians  of  opposite  parties — Sharp,  a  lawyer. 

Enter  Evelyn,  meeting  Stout,  who  comes  in  out  of  breath 

with  haste — Sharp  i^'  seated  at  a  desk. 
Evelyn. — Stout,  you  look  heated ! 

Stout.    ( With   great  eagerness,   but   pompously.) — I    hear 
you've  just  bought  the  great  Groginhole  property. 
Evelyn. — It  is  true.     Sharp  says  it's  a  bargain. 


846  PRACTICE    OF   ELOCUTION. 

Stout. — Well,  my  dear  friend  Hopkins,  member  for  Grogin- 
hole,  can't  live  another  month — excellent  creature,  the  dearest 
friend  I  have  in  the  world — but  the  interests  of  mankind  forbid 
regret  for  individuals  !  Popkins  intends  to  start  for  the  borough 
the  instant  Hopkins  is  dead  ! — your  interest  will  secure  his  elec  • 
lion.  Now  is  your  time  !  put  yourself  forward  in  the  march  of 
enlightenment ! — By  all  that's  bigoted,  here  comes  Glossmore  ! 
l_Crosses  behind  Evelyn  to  his  left  hand.'] 

Enter  Glossmore. 

Gloss.  [^Eagerly.'] — So  lucky  to  find  you  at  home !  Hop- 
kins, of  Groginhole,  is  not  long  for  this  world.  Popkins,  the 
brewer,  is  already  canvassing  underhand  (so  very  ungentle- 
man-like  !)  Keep  your  interest  for  young  Lord  Cipher — a 
most  valuable  candidate.  This  is  an  awful  moment — the  con- 
stitution depends  on  his  return  !     Vote  for  Cipher ! 

Stout. — Popkins  is  your  man. 

Erehjn.  \^Musivg.'] — Cipher  and  Popkins — Popkins  and  Ci- 
pher. Enlightenment  and  Popkins — Cipher  and  the  Constitu- 
tion !     I  am  puzzled !     Stout,  I  am  not  known  at  Groginhole. 

Stout. — Your  property''s  known  there ! 

Evelyn. — But  purity  of  election — independence  of  voters. — 

Stoid. — To  be  sure :  Cipher  bribes  ahominahly.  Frustrate 
his  schemes — preserve  the  liberties  of  the  borough — turn  every 
man  out  of  liis  house  who  votes  against  enlightenment  and 
Popkins. 

Evelyn. — Right !  down  with  those  who  take  the  liberty  to 
admire  any  liberty  except  our  liberty  !     That  is  liberty  ! 

Gloss. — Cipher  has  a  stake  in  the  country — will  have  fifty 
thousand  a-ycar — Cipher  will  never  give  a  vote  without  con- 
sidering betbrehand  liow  people  of  fifty  thousand  a-year  will  be 
affected  by  the  motion. 

Evelyn. — Riglit:  r)r  as  Avithout  law  there  would  be  no  pro- 
perty, so  to  be  the  law  for  property  is  the  only  proper  property 
of  law  !     That  is  law  ! 

Stout. — Popkins  is  all  for  economy ;  there's  a  sad  waste  of 
the  public  money — they  give  the  Speaker  five  thousand  a-year, 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  347 

when  I've  a  brother-in-law  who  takes  the  chair  at  the  vestry, 
and  who  assures  me  confidentially  he'd  consent  to  be  Speaker 
for  half  the  money. 

Gloss. — Enough.  Mr.  Stout.  Mr.  Evelyn  has  too  much  at 
stake  for  a  leveller. 

Stout. — And  too  much  sense  for  a  bigot. 

Gloss. — A  bigot,  sir  ! 

Stout. — Yes,  a  bigot ! 

[^Puts  his  hat  on,  and  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
looks  fiercely  at  Glossmore.] 

Evelyn.  [^Lauehing.'] — Mr.  Evelyn  has  no  politics  at  all.  Did 
you  ever  play  at  battledore  7 

Both. — Battledore  ! 

Evelyn. — Battledore — that  is,  a  contest  between  two  parties : 
both  parties  knock  about  something  with  singular  skill — some- 
thing is  kept  up — high — low — here — there — everywhere — no- 
where !  How  grave  are  the  players !  how  anxious  the  by- 
standers !  how  noisy  the  battledores !  But.  when  this  some- 
thing falls  to  the  ground,  only  fancy — it's  nothing  but  cork  and 
feather  ! — Go  and  play  by  yourselves — I'm  no  hand  at  it. 

[  Crosses  to  the  left.'] 

Stotct  [aside.] — Sad  ignorance  !  Aristocrat ! 

Gloss,  [^aside.] — Heartless  principles !  Parvenu ! 

Stout. — Then  you  don't  go  ag-ainst  us  ?  I'll  bring  Popkins 
to-morrow. 

Gloss. — Keep  yourself  free  till  I  present  Cipher  to  you. 

Stout. — I  must  go  to  inquire  after  Hopkins.  The  return  of 
Popkins  will  be  an  era  in  history.  [  Goes  out.] 

Gloss. — 1  must  go  to  the  club  : — the  eyes  of  the  country  are 
upon  Groginhole.     If  Cipher  fail,  the  constitution  is  gone. 

[  Goes  out.] 

Evelyn. — All  parties  alike !  nothing  but  money !  Money 
versus  Man  ! — Sharp,  come  here — let  me  look  on  you.  [Sharp 
arises  from  the  desk.] — You  are  my  agent,  my  lawyer,  my 
man  of  business.  I  believe  you  honest; — but  what  is  honesty? 
— where  does  it  exist  ?  in  what  part  of  us  ? 


348  PRACTICE  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Sharp. — In  the  heart,  I  suppose,  sir. 

Evelyn.— Mr.  Sharp,  it  exists  in  the  breeches'  pocket !  Ob- 
serve, I  lay  this  piece  of  yellow  earth  on  the  table — I  contem- 
plate you  both ; — the  man  there — the  gold  here.  Now,  there  is 
many  a  man  in  those  streets  as  honest  as  you  are,  who  moves, 
thinks,  feels,  and  reasons,  as  well  as  we  do  ;  excellent  in  form, 
imperishable  in  soul ;  who,  if  his  pockets  were  three  days 
empty,  would  sell  thought,  reason,  body,  and  soul  too,  for  that 
little  coin  !  Is  that  the  fault  of  the  man  ?  No  !  it  is  the  fault 
of  mankind.  God  made  man ;  behold  what  mankind  has  made 
a  god !  By  the  bye,  Sharp,  send  a  hundred  pounds  to  the  poor 
bricklayer  whose  house  was  burnt  down  yesterday. 

Sharp. — Yes,  sir. 

Evelyn. — Well,  man,  don't  stand  gaping  there :  have  you  no 
bowels  ?    Go  and  see  to  it  immediately. 

[  They  go  out  at  opposite  sides.'] 


SCENE  FROM  THE  POOR  GENTLEMAN.— Colman. 

[To  this  dialogue,  the  same  observations  as  those  which  pre- 
ceded the  last  apply ;  with  this  addition,  that  the  eccentric  pe- 
culiarities of  Ollapod  must  be  marked  by  a  6;-t>/c  utterance  and 
a  comic  manner.] 

Characters:  Sir  Charles  Cropland — WarneRjMs Steward 
— Ollapod. 

fVar. — Your  honor  is  right  Avelcome  into  Kent.  I  am  proud 
to  see  Sir  Charles  Cropland  on  his  estate  again.  I  hope  you 
mean  to  stay  on  the  spot  for  some  time.  Sir  Charles. 

Sir  C. — A  very  tedious  time — three  days,  Mr.  Warner. 

War. — Ah,  good  sir  !  things  would  prosper  better  if  you  hon- 
ored us  with  your  presence  a  little  more.  I  wish  you  lived  en- 
tirely upon  the  estate.  Sir  Charles. 

Sir  C — Thank  you,  Warner  ;  but  modern  men  of  fashion 
find  it  devilish  dilTicult  to  live  upon  their  estates. 

War. — The  country  about  you  socliarming! 


DRAMATIC   PIECES.  349 

fSir  C. — Look  ye,  Warner  :  I  must  hunt  in  Leicestershire — 
for  that's  the  thing.  In  the  frosts,  and  the  spring  months,  I 
must  be  in  town,  at  the  clubs — for  that's  the  thing.  In  summer, 
I  must  be  at  the  watering-places — for  that's  the  thing.  Now. 
Warner,  under  these  circumstances,  how  is  it  possible  for  me 
to  reside  upon  my  estate  ?     For  my  estate  being  in  Kent 

War. — The  most  beautiful  part  of  the  country  ! 

Sir  C. — Hang  beauty  !  We  don't  mind  that  in  Leicester- 
shire.    My  estate,  I  say,  being  in  Kent 

War. — A  land  of  milk  and  honey ! 

Sir  C. — I  hate  milk  and  honey ! 

War. — A  land  of  fat ! 

Sir  C. — Melt  your  fat !  Listen  to  me :  my  estate  being  in 
Kent 

War — So  woody  ! 

Sir  C. — Burn  the  \v'ood  !  No,  that's  wrong — for  its  conveni- 
ent ;  I  am  come  on  purpose  to  cut  it. 

War. — Ah  !  I  was  atraid  so  !  Dice  on  the  table,  and  then, 
the  axe  to  the  root !  Money  lost  at  play,  and  then,  good  lack ! 
the  forest  groans  for  it. 

Sir.  C. — But  you  are  not  the  forest,  and  why  the  deuce  do 
you  groan  for  it  ? 

War. — I  heartily  wish.  Sir  Charles,  you  may  not  encumber 
the  goodly  estate.  Your  worthy  ancestors  had  views  for  their 
posterity. 

Sir  C. — And  I  shall  have  views  for  my  posterity :  I  shall  take 
especial  care  the  trees  sha'nt  intercept  their  prospect.  In  short, 
Mr.  Warner,  I  must  have  three  thousand  pounds  in  three  days. 
Fell  timber  to  that  amount,  immediately.  'Tis  my  peremptory 
order,  sir. 

War. — I  shall  obey  you.  Sir  Charles  ;  but  'tis  with  a  heavy 
heart.  Forgive  an  old  servant  of  the  family,  if  he  grieves  to 
see  you  forget  some  of  the  duties  for  which  society  has  a  claim 
upon  you. 

Sir  C. — What  do  you  mean  by  duties  ? 

War. — Duties,  Sir  Charles,  which  the  extravagant  man  of 
property  can  never  fidfil :  such  as  to  support  the  dignity  of  an 


350  PRACTICE    OF  ELOCUTION. 

English  landholder,  for  the  honor  of  old  England ;  to  promote 
the  welfare  of  his  honest  tenants  ;  and  to  succor  the  industrious 
poor,  who  naturally  look  up  to  him  for  assistance.  But  I  shall 
obey  you,  Sir  Charles.  [JCrtV.] 

Sir  C. — A  tiresome  old  blockhead ! — But  where  is  this  OUa- 
pod  ■?  His  jumble  of  physic  and  shooting  may  enliven  me ;  and 
to  a  man  of  gallantry,  in  the  country,  his  intelligence  is  by  no 
means  uninteresting,  nor  his  services  inconvenient. 

Enter  Ollapod. 

Ah !  Ollapod  : 

OIL — Sir  Charles,  I  have  the  honor  to  be  your  slave  !  Hope 
your  health  is  good.  Been  a  hard  Avinter  here — sore  throats 
were  plenty — so  were  woodcocks.  Flushed  four  couple  one 
morning,  in  a  half-mile  walk  from  our  town,  to  cure  Mrs. 
Q,uarles  of  a  quinsey.  May  coming  on  soon,  Sir  Charles — 
season  of  delight,  love,  and  campaigning!  Hope  you  come  to 
sojourn.  Sir  Charles.  Should'nt  be  always  on  the  wing — that's 
being  too  flighty.  [Laughing.']  He  !  he  !  he  !  Do  you  take, 
good  sir  ?  do  you  take  ? 

Sir  C. — Oh,  yes,  I  take.  But  by  the  cockade  in  your  hat, 
Ollapod,  you  have  added  lately,  it  seems,  to  your  avocations. 

Oil. — He  !  he  !  Yes,  Sir  Charles.  I  have  now  the  honor  to 
be  cornet  in  the  volunteer  association  corps  of  our  town.  It  fell 
out  unexpected — pop,  on  a  sudden;  like  the  goingoff  of  a  field- 
piece,  or  an  alderman  in  an  apoplexy. 

Sir  C. — Explain. 

on. — Happening  to  be  at  home — rainy  day — no  going  out  to 
sport,  blister,  shoot,  nor  bleed — was  busy  behind  the  counter. — 
You  know  my  shop.  Sir  Charles — Galen's  head  over  the  door — 
new  gilt  him  last  week,  by  the  bye — looks  as  fresh  as  a  pill. 

Sir  C. — Well,  no  more  on  that  head  now.     Proceed. 

OIL— On  that  head  !  {Laughing.']  He !  he  !  he  !  That's 
very  well — very  well,  indeed  !  Thank  you,  good  sir — I  owe 
you  one  ! — Churchwarden  Posh,  of  our  town,  being  ill  of  an  in- 
digestion, from  eating  three  pounds  of  measly  pork,  at  a  vestry 
dinner,  I  was  making  up  a  cathartic  for  tlie  patient;  when  who 


DRA3IATIC    PIECES.  351 

should  strat  into  the  shop  but  Lieutenant  Grains,  the  brewer, 
sleek  as  a  dray-horse — in  a  smart  scarlet  jacket,  tastily  turned 
up  with  a  rhubarb-colored  lapelle  !  I  confess  his  figure  struck 
me.  I  looked  at  him,  as  1  was  thumping  tlie  mortar,  and  felt 
instantly  inoculated  with  a  military  ardor. 

Sir  C. — Inoculated  !  I  hope  your  ardor  was  of  a  favorable 
sort. 

Oil. — Ha!  ha!  That's  very  well— very  well,  indeed! — 
Thank  you,  good  sir — I  owe  you  one !  We  first  talked  of 
shooting — he  knew  my  celebrity  that  way.  Sir  Charles.  I  told 
him,  the  day  before,  I  had  killed  six  brace  of  birds.  I  thumped 
on  at  the  mortar. — We  then  talked  of  physic  :  I  told  him,  the 
day  before,  I  had  killed — lost,  I  mean,  six  brace  of  patients.  I 
thumped  on  at  the  mortar,  eyeing  him  all  the  while ;  for  he 
looked  devilish  flashy,  to  be  sure ;  and  I  felt  an  itching  to  be- 
long to  the  corps.  The  medical  and  military  both  deal  in  death, 
you  know — so,  'twas  natural.  He !  he ! — Do  you  take,  good 
sir  ?  do  you  take  ? 

Sir  C. — Take ! — Oh,  nobody  can  miss. 

Oil. — He  then  talked  of  the  corps  itself;  said  it  was  sickly ; 
and  if  a  professional  person  would  administer  to  the  health  of 
the  association,  dose  the  men,  and  drench  the  horses,  he  could, 
perhaps,  procure  him  a  cornetcy. 

Sir  C. — Well,  you  jumped  at  the  offer  ? 

Oil. — Jumped !  I  jumped  over  the  counter ;  kicked  down 
Churchwarden  Posh's  cathartic  into  the  pocket  of  Lieutenant 
Grains's  smart  scarlet  jacket,  tastily  turned  up  with  a  rhubarb- 
colored  lapelle ;  embraced  him  and  his  offer ;  and  1  am  now 
Cornet  Ollapod.  apotliecarj".  at  the  Galen's  Head,  of  the  associ- 
ation corps  of  cavalry,  at  your  service  ! 

Sir  C. — I  wish  you  joy  of  your  appointment.  You  may 
now  distil  water  for  the  shop  from  the  laurels  you  gather  in 
the  field. 

Oil. — Water  for — Oh  !  laurel-water.  He  !  lie  !  Come,  that's 
very  well— ver}^  well,  indeed  I  Thank  you.  good  sir — I  owe  you 
one !  Why,  I  fancy  fame  will  follow,  when  the  poison  of  a 
small  mistake  I  made  has  ceased  to  operate. 


352  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Sir  C. — A  mistake  ! 

Oil. — Having  to  attend  Lady  Kitty  Carbuncle,  on  a  grand 
field-day,  I  clapped  a  pint  bottle  of  her  ladyship's  diet-drink  into 
one  of  my  holsters,  intending  to  proceed  to  the  patient,  after  the 
exercise  was  over.  I  reached  the  martial  ground,  and  jalloped 
— galloped,  I  mean — wheeled,  and  flourished,  with  great  eclat; 
but  when  the  word  "  Fire  !"  was  given,  meaning  to  pull  out  my 
pistol,  in  a  deuce  of  a  hurry,  I  presented,  neck  foremost,  the 
diet-drink  of  Lady  Kitty  Carbuncle ;  and  the  medicine  being, 
unfortunately,  fermented,  by  the  jolting  of  my  horse,  it  forced 
out  the  cork,  with  a  prodigious  pop,  full  in  the  face  of  my  gal- 
lant commander. 

Sij^  C. — Ha  !  ha !  ha  !     A  mistake  indeed. 

Oil. — Rather  awkward ! — But,  Sir  Charles,  excuse  me — your 
servant !     I  must  march — patients  impatient.     You  take  ? 

Sir  C. — O  yes :  and  so  will  they,  I  fancy,  before  you've  done 
with  them. 

Oil. — Ha  !  physic — certainly  !  Salts,  rhubarb,  senna,  colo- 
quintida,  scammony,  gambouge.  Good,  good !  thank  you, 
good  sir ;  I  owe  you  one.  [  They  go  out  on  opposite  sides.'] 


HAMLET'S  SOLILOaUY  ON  LIFE  AND  DEATH. 

Shaks. 
[In  the  deep  tone  of  solemn  reflection.] 

To  BE — or  not  to  be  ? — that  is  the  question ! 
Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune, — 
Or,  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 
And  by  opposing  end  them  ! — To  die  ?— to  sleep : 
No  more :  and  by  a  sleep  to  say  we  end 
The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to : — 'tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wisli'd  ! — To  die,— to  sleep: — 
To  bleep  ? — perchance  to  dream  :  ay,  there's  the  rub : 


DRAMATIC    PIECES. 

For,  in  that  sleep  of  death,  what  dreams  may  come 

When  we  have  shuffled  ofT  this  mortal  coil, 

Must  give  us  pause  !     There's  the  respect 

Which  makes  calamity  of  so  long  hfe : 

For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 

The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely. 

The  pangs  of  despis'd  love,  the  law's  delay, 

The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 

Which  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes. 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 

With  a  bare  bodkin  ?-— Who  would  fardles  bear, 

To  groan  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life, 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death — 

That  undiscover'd  country  from  whose  bourne 

No  traveller  returns — puzzles  the  will, 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have, 

Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of. — 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all. 

And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 

Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought, 

And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment, 

With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry. 

And  lose  the  name  of  action. 


NIGHT  SOLILOaUY  IN  VENICE.— Byron. 
Scene — Palace  of  the  patrician  Lioni. 
LioNi,  laying  aside  his  cloak  and  mask. 

1  WILL  to  rest,  right  weary  of  this  revel, 
The  gayest  we  have  held,  for  many  moons. 
And  yet,  I  know  not  why,  it  cheer'd  me  not ; 
There  came  a  heaviness  across  my  heart, 
Which,  in  the  hghtest  movement  of  the  dance, 
Oppress'd  me, 
And  through  my  spirit  chilled  my  blood,  until 


353 


354  PRACTICE   OF   ELOCUTION. 

A  damp,  like  death,  rose  o'er  my  brow  ;  I  strove 
To  laugh  the  thought  away,  but  'twould  not  be ; 
So  that  I  left  the  festival  before 
It  reached  its  zenith,  and  will  woo  my  pillow 
For  thoughts  more  tranquil,  or  forgetfulness. — 

I  will  try 
Whether  the  air  will  calm  my  spirits :  'tis 
A  goodly  night :  the  cloudy  wind  which  blew 
From  the  Levant,  haih  crept  into  its  cave, 
And  the  broad  moon  has  brightened. — What  a  stillness ! 
And  what  a  contrast  with  the  scene  I  left, 
Where  the  tall  torches'  glare,  and  silver  lamps' 
More  pallid  gleam  along  the  tap'stried  walls, 
Spread  over  the  reluctant  gloom  which  haunts 
Those  vast  and  dimly-latticed  galleries, 
A  dazzling  mass  of  artificial  light. 
Which  showed  all  things,  but  nothing  as  they  were  I 

Around  me  are  the  stars  and  waters, — 
Worlds  mirrored  in  the  ocean,  goodlier  sight 
Than  torches  glared  back  by  a  gaudy  glass ; 
And  the  great  element,  which  is  to  space 
What  ocean  is  to  earth,  spreads  its  blue  depths, 
Softened  with  the  first  breathings  of  the  spring ; 
The  high  moon  sails  upon  her  beauteous  way, 
Serenely  smoothing  o'er  the  lofty  walls 
Of  those  tall  piles,  and  sea-girt  palaces. 
Whose  porphyry  pillars,  and  whose  costly  fronts, 
Fraught  with  the  orient  spoil  of  many  marbles, 
Like  altars  ranged   along  the  broad  canal,  • 

Seem  each  a  trophy  of  some  mighty  deed. 
Rear'd  up  from  out  the  waters,  scarce  less  strangely 
Than  those  more  massy  and  mysterious  giants 
Of  architecture,  those  Titanian  fabrics, 
Wliich  point  in  Egypt's  plains  to  times  that  have 
No  other  record.     All  is  gentle :  nought 
Stirs  rudely ;  but,  congenial  with  the  night, 
Whatever  walks,  is  gliding  like  a  spirit 


355 


DRAMATIC    PIECES. 

The  tinkling  of  some  vigilant  guitars 

Of  sleepless  lovers  to  a  wakeful  mistress, 

And  cautious  opening  of  the  casement,  showing 

That  he  is  not  unheard ;  while  her  young  hand, — 

Fair  as  the  moonlight,  of  which  it  seems  part, 

So  delicately  white,  it  trembles  in 

The  act  of  opening  the  forbidden  lattice, 

To  let  in  love  through  music, — makes  his  heart 

Thrill  like  his  IjTe-slrings  at  the  sight ;— the  dash 

Phosphoric  of  the  oar,  or  rapid  twinkle 

Of  the  far  lights  of  skimming  gondolas. 

And  the  responsive  voices  of  the  choir 

Of  boatmen,  answering  back,  with  verse  for  verse — 

Some  dusky  shadow,  checkering  the  Rialto — 

Some  glimmering  palace-roof,  or  tapering  spire — 

Are  all  the  sights  and  sounds  which  here  pervade 

The  ocean-born  and  earth-commanding  city. 

How  sweet  and  soothing  is  the  hour  of  calm ! 

I  thank  thee,  Night  1  for  thou  hast  chased  away 

Those  horrid  bodements,  which,  amidst  the  throng, 

I  could  not  dissipate,  and,— with  the  blessing 

Of  thy  benign  and  quiet  influence, — 

Now  will  I  to  my  couch,  although  to  rest 

Is  almost  wronging  such  a  night  as  this. 


TRIAL  SCENE  FROM  THE  MERCHANT  OF 
VENICE.— Shaks. 

Scene — A  Court  of  Justice  in  Venice. 

The  Duke,  Magnijicoes,  Antonio,  Bassanio,  Gratiano, 
and  Shvlock. 

Z?M/ce.— Shylock,  the  world  thinks,  and  I  think  so  too, 
That  thou  but  lead'st  this  fashion  of  thy  malice 
To  the  last  hour  of  act ;  and  then,  'tis  thought, 
Thou'it  show  thv  mercy,  and  remorse,  more  strange 


356  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Than  is  thy  strange  apparent  cruelty : 

And,  where  thou  now  exact'st  the  penalty, 

(Which  is  a  pound  of  this  poor  merchant's  flesh,) 

Thou  wilt  not  only  lose  the  forfeiture, 

But,  touch'd  with  human  gentleness  and  love, 

Forgive  a  moiety  of  the  principal : 

Glancing  an  eye  of  pity  on  his  losses, 

That  have  of  late  so  huddled  on  his  back ; 

Enough  to  press  a  royal  merchant  down, 

And  pluck  commiseration  of  his  state 

From  brassy  bosoms,  and  rough  hearts  of  flint, 

From  stubborn  Turks,  and  Tartars,  never  train'd 

To  offices  of  tender  courtesy. 

We  all  expect  a  gentle  answer,  Jew. 

Slnj. — I  have  possess'd  your  grace  of  what  I  purpose  j 
And  by  our  holy  sabbath  have  I  sworn. 
To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond : 
If  you  deny  it,  let  the  danger  light 
Upon  your  charter,  and  your  city's  freedom. 
You'll  ask  me,  why  I  rather  choose  to  have 
A  weight  of  carrion  flesh,  than  to  receive 
Three  thousand  ducats  ;  I'll  not  answer  that ; 
But  say,  it  is  my  humour :  is  it  answered  ? 
What  if  my  house  be  troubled  with  a  rat. 
And  I  be  pleas'd  to  give  ten  thousand  ducats 
To  have  it  ban'd: — what  are  you  answered  yet? 
Some  men  there  are,  love  not  a  gaping  pig : 
Some,  that  are  mad,  if  they  behold  a  cat ; 
Now  for  your  answer: 
As  there  is  no  firm  reason  to  be  render'd. 
Why  he  cannot  abide  a  gaping  pig ; 
Why  he.  a  harmless  necessary  cat ; 
So  can  I  give  no  reason,  nor  will  I  not. 
More  than  a  lodg'd  hate,  and  a  certain  loathing, 
I  bear  Antonio,  that  I  follow  thus 
A  losing  suit  against  him.     Are  you  answer'd  1 


DRAMATIC   PIECES. 


357 


Bass. — This  is  no  answer,  thou  unfeeling  man, 
To  excuse  the  current  of  thy  cruelty, 

Shy.— I  am  not  bound  to  please  thee  with  my  answer. 

Bass.— Do  all  men  kill  the  things  they  do  not  love  ? 

Shy.— Hates  any  man  the  thing  he  would  not  killl 

Bass. — Every  otfence  is  not  a  hate  at  first. 

<S%.— What,  wouldst  thou  have  a  serpent  sting  thee  twice  ? 

Jlnt_ — I  pray  you,  think  you  question  with  the  Jew : 
You  may  as  well  go  stand  upon  the  beach, 
And  bid  the  main  flood  bate  his  usual  height ; 
You  may  as  well  use  question  with  the  wolf. 
Why  he  hath  made  the  ewe  bleat  for  the  lamb  ; 
You  may  as  well  forbid  the  mountain  pines 
To  wag  their  high  tops,  and  to  make  no  noise, 
When  they  are  fretted  with  the  gusts  of  heaven  ; 
You  may  as  well — do  any  thing  most  hard, 
As  seek  to  soften  that — (than  which  what's  harder?) — 
His  Jewish  heart :  therefore  I  do  beseech  you, 
Make  no  more  offers,  use  no  further  means, 
But,  with  all  brief  and  plain  conveniency, 
Let  me  have  judgment,  and  the  Jew  his  will. 

Bass. — For  thy  three  thousand  ducats  here  are  six. 

Shy. — If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats 
Were  in  six  parts,  and  every  part  a  ducat, 
I  would  not  draw  them  ;  I  would  have  my  bond. 

Duke, — How  shalt  thou  hope  for  mercy,  rend'ring  none? 
Shy. — What  judgment  shall  I  dread,  doing  no  wrong  ? 
You  have  among  you  many  a  purchas'd  slave^ 
Which,  like  your  asses,  and  your  dogs,  and  mules, 
You  use  in  abject  and  in  slavish  parts. 
Because  you  bought  them  : — shall  I  say  to  you, 
Let  them  be  free,  marry  them  to  your  heirs : 
Why  sweat  they  under  their  burdens? — let  their  beds 
Be  made  as  soft  as  yours,  let  their  palates 
Be  season'd  with  such  viands  ?     You  will  answer, 
The  slaves  are  ours : — So  do  I  answer  you : 


358  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCtJTION. 

The  pound  of  flesh,  which  I  demand  of  him, 
Is  dearly  bought,  is  mine,  -and  I  will  have  it : 
If  you  deny  me,  fie  upon  your  law. 
There  is  no  force  in  the  decrees  of  Venice : 
I  stand  for  judgment :  answer  ;  shall  I  have  it  1 

Duke. — Upon  my  power.  I  may  dismiss  this  court, 
Unless  a  learned  doctor, 
Whom  I  have  sent  for  to  determine  this, 
Come  here  to-day. — 
And  here,  I  take  it,  is  the  doctor  come.— 

Enter  Portia,  dressed  like  a  Doctor  of  Laws. 

Duke. — Are  you  acquainted  with  the  difference 
That  holds  this  present  question  in  the  court? 

Por. — I  am  informed  throughly  of  the  cause. 
Which  is  the  merchant  here,  and  which  the  Jew  ? 
Duke. — Antonio  and  old  Shylock,  both  stand  forth. 

\_They  stand  forth.'] 
Por. — Is  your  name  Shylock? 
Shy. — Shylock  is  my  name. 

Por. — Of  a  strange  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow ; 
Yet  in  such  rule,  that  the  Venetian  law 
Cannot  impugn  you,  as  you  do  proceed. 
You  stand  within  his  danger,  do  you  not  ? 
Ant. — Ay,  so  he  says. 
Por. — Do  you  confess  the  bond  ? 
Ant. — I  do. 

Por. — Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 
Shy. — On  v.'hat  compulsion  must  I  ?  tell  me  that. 
Por. — The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd; 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven, 
Upon  the  place  beneath ;  it  is  twice  bless'd  ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes : 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest ;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown : 
His  sceptre  shows  tlie  force  of  temporal  power, 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 


DKAJIATIC    PIECES.  359 

WTierein  doth  git  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings  ; 

Bui  mercy  is  above  the  scepterd  sway, 

It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings. 

It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 

And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's, 

When  mercy  seasons  justice  :  therefore,  Jew, 

Though  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this — 

That,  in  the  course  of  justice,  none  of  us 

Should  see  salvation ;  we  do  pray  for  mercy ; 

And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 

The  deeds  of  mercy. — I  have  spoke  thus  much, 

To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea ; 

Which  if  thou  follow,  this  strict  court  of  Venice 

Must  needs  give  sentence  'gainst  the  m.erchant  there. 

Shy. — My  deeds  upon  my  head!     I  crave  the  law, 
The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  boiid. 

Por. — Is  he  not  able  to  discharge  the  money  1 

Bass. — Yes,  here  I  tender  it  for  him  in  the  court ; 
Yea,  thrice  the  sum ;  if  that  will  not  suffice, 
I  will  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o'er, 
On  forfeit  of  my  hands,  my  head,  my  heart ; 
If  this  will  not  suffice,  it  must  appear 
That  malice  bears  down  truth.     And  I  beseech  you, 
Wrest  once  the  law  to  your  authority  ; 
To  do  a  great  right,  do  a  little  wrong : 
And  curb  this  cruel  devil  of  liis  will. 

Por. — It  must  not  be  ;  there  is  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a  decree  established  : 
'Twill  be  recorded  for  a  precedent ; 
And  many  an  error,  by  the  same  example, 
Will  rush  into  the  state  :  it  cannot  be. 

Shy. — [In  a7i  ecstacy  of  delight.'] — A  Daniel  come  to  judg- 
ment !  yea,  a  Daniel ! — 
O  wise  young  judge,  how  do  I  honor  thee  ! 

Por. — I  pray  you.  let  me  look  upon  the  bond. 

Shy. — Here  'tis,  most  reverend  doctor,  here  it  is.     \_Givesit.'] 

Por. — Shylock,  there's  thrice  thy  money  offer'd  thee. 


360  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Shy. — An  oaih,  an  oath;  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven. 
Shall  I  lay  perjury  on  my  soul  7 
No,  not  for  Venice. 

Por. — Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit ; 
And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim 
A  pound  of  flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  off 
Nearest  the  merchant's  heart : — Be  merciful ; 
Take  thrice  thy  money  ;  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 

Shy. — When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenor. — 
It  doth  appear,  you  are  a  worthy  judge ; 
You  know  the  law,  your  exposition 
Hath  been  most  sound :  I  charge  you  by  the  law, 
Whereof  you  are  a  well- deserving  pillar. 
Proceed  to  judgment ;  by  my  soul  I  swear 
There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me  :  I  stay  here  on  my  bond. 

Ant. — Most  heartily  I  do  beseech  the  court 
To  give  the  judgment. 

Por. — Why,  then,  thus  it  is. 
You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife ; — 

Shy. — O,  noble  judge  !     O,  excellent  young  man ! 

Por. — For  the  intent  and  purpose  of  the  law 
Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty. 
Which  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond. 

Shy. — 'Tis  very  true  :  O,  wise  and  upright  judge  ! 
How  much  more  elder  art  thou  than  thy  looks  ! 

Por. — Therefore,  lay  bare  your  bosom. 

Shy. — Ay,  his  breast : 
So  says  the  bond : — Doth  it  not,  noble  judge  ? — 
Nearest  his  heart ;  those  are  the  very  words. 

Por. — It  is  so.     Are  there  balance  here  to  weigh 
The  flesh  ? 

Shy. — I  have  them  ready. 

[Produces  the  scales  out  of  the  folds  of  his  cloak."] 

Por. — Have  by  some  surgeon,  Shylock,  on  your  charge, 
To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed  to  death. 

Shy. — Is  it  60  nominated  in  the  bond  ? 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  361 

Por. — It  is  not  so  express'd  ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
'Twere  good  you  do  so  much  for  charity. 

Shy. — I  cannot  find  it ;  'tis  not  in  the  bond. 

Por. — Come,  merchant,  have  you  any  thing  to  say  ? 
[^Portia  takes  a  seat  near  the  Duke — Shylock  stands  musing.'] 

Ant.^-Bui  httle  ;  I  am  arm'd,  and  well  prepar'd. 
Give  me  your  hand,  Bassanio  ;  fare  you  well ! 
Grieve  not  that  I  am  fallen  to  this  for  you ; 
For  herein  fortune  shows  herself  more  kind 
Than  is  her  custom  :  it  is  still  her  use, 
To  let  the  wretched  man  outlive  his  wealth, 
To  view  with  hollow  eye,  and  wrinkled  brow, 
An  age  of  poverty ;  from  which  lingering  penance 
Of  such  a  misery  doth  she  cut  me  off. 
Repent  not  you  that  you  shall  lose  your  friend, 
And  he  repents  not  that  he  pays  your  debt ; 
For,  if  the  Jew  do  cut  but  deep  enough, 
I'll  pay  it  instantly  with  all  my  heart. 

Shy.— We  trifle  time :  I  pray  thee,  pursue  sentence. 

Por. — Incomes  forivard.'] — A  pound  of  that  same  merchant's 
flesh  is  thine ; 
The  court  awards  it,  and  the  law  doth  give  it. 

Shy. — Most  rightful  judge  ! 

Por. — And  you  nuist  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his  breast ; 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Shy. — Most  learned  judge  ! — a  sentence  ;  come,  prepare. 

Por. — Tarry  a  little  ;  there  is  something  else. — 
This  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood  ; 
The  words  expressly  are.  a  pound  of  flesh  ; 
Take  then  thy  bond,  take  thou  thy  pound  of  flesh ; 
But,  in  the  cutting  of  it,  if  thou  dost  shed 
One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 
Are,  by  the  laws  of  Venice,  confiscate 
Unto  the  state  of  Venice. 

Gra. — O,  upright  judge  ! — Mark,  Jew  ! — a  learned  judge ! 

Shy. — ^Tremulously.'] — Is  that  the  law? 

Por. — Thyself  shall  see  the  act: 
Q 


362  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assur'd 

Thou  shalt  have  justice,  more  than  thou  desir'st. 

Gra. — O  learned  judge  ! — Mark,  Jew  I — a  learned  judge ! 

Shy. — I  take  this  offer,  then  ; — pay  the  bond  thrice, 
And  let  the  Christian  go. 

Bass. — Here  is  the  money. 

Por.— Soft : 
The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice  ; — soft ! — no  haste ; — 
He  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty. 

Crra. — O,  Jew  !  an  upright  judge,  a  learned  judge ! 

Por. — Therefore,  prepare  thee  to  cut  off  the  flesh. 
Shed  thou  no  blood ;  nor  cut  thou  less,  nor  more, 
But  just  a  pound  of  flesh ;  if  thou  tak'st  more. 
Or  less,  than  a  just  pound — be  it  but  so  much 
As  makes  it  light,  or  heavj^,  in  the  substance. 
Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple  !  nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair — 
Thou  diest,  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate. 

Gra. — A  second  Daniel !  a  Daniel,  Jew  ! 
Now,  infidel,  I  have  thee  on  the  hip. 

Por. — Why  doth  the  Jew  pause  1  take  thy  forfeiture. 

Sky. — Give  me  ray  principal,  and  let  me  go. 

Bass. — I  have  it  ready  for  thee  ;  here  it  is. 

Por. — He  hath  rcfus'd  it  in  the  open  court ; 
He  shall  have  merely  justice,  and  his  bond. 

Gra. — A  Daniel,  still  say  I ;  a  second  Daniel ! — 
I  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 

Shy. — Shall  I  not  barely  have  my  principal  1 

Por. — Thou  shalt  have  nothing  but  the  forfeiture, 
To  be  so  taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew. 

Shy.—Vfhy  then  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it  I 
I'll  stay  no  longer  question. 

Por. — Tarry,  Jew  : 
The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  you 
It  IS  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice — 
If  it  be  provVl  againpt  an  alien,  ^ 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  363 

That  by  direct  or  indirect  attempts. 

He  seek  the  hfe  of  any  citizen, 

The  party,  'gainst  the  which  he  doth  contrive,, 

Shall  seize  on  halt"  his  goods ;  the  other  half 

Comes  to  the  pri\y  coffer  of  the  state  ; 

And  the  offender's  life  lies  in  the  mercy 

Of  the  Duke  only,  'gainst  all  other  voice. 

In  which  predicament  I  say,  thou  stand'st : 

For  it  appears  by  manifest  proceeding, 

That,  indirectly,  and  directly  too. 

Thou  hast  contrived  against  the  very  life 

Of  the  defendant ;  and  thou  hast  incurr'd 

The  danger  formerly  by  me  rehears'd. — - 

Down,  therefore,  and  beg  mercy  of  the  Duke. 

[^Retires  to  the  Duke.'\ 

Gra. — Beg,  that  thou  may'st  have  leave  to  hang  thyself: 
And  yet,  thy  wealth  being  forfeit  to  the  state. 
Thou  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a  cord ; 
Therefore,  thou  must  be  hang'd  at  the  state's  charge. 

Duke. — That  thou  shalt  see  the  difference  of  our  spirit: 
I  pardon  thee  thy  life  before  thou  ask  it. 
For  half  thy  wealth,  it  is  Antonio's ; 
The  other  half  comes  to  the  general  state, 
Which  humbleness  may  drive  into  a  fine. 

Por.  [Seated  by  the  Dcke.] — Ay,  for  the  state ;  not  for  Antonio. 

Shy. — Nay,  take  my  life  and  all,  pardon  not  that : 
You  take  my  house,  when  you  do  take  the  prop 
That  doth  sustain  my  house  :  you  take  my  life. 
When  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  I  live. 

Por. — "V^Hiat  mercy  can  you  render  him,  Antonio  ? 

Gra. — A  halter  gratis ;  nothing  else,  for  heaven's  sake. 

Ant. — So  please  my  lord  the  duke,  and  all  the  court. 
To  quit  the  fine  for  one  half  of  his  goods ; 
I  am  content,  so  he  will  let  me  have 
The  other  half  in  use — to  render  it. 
Upon  his  death,  unto  the  gentleman 
That  lately  stole  his  daughter. 


364  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

Two  things  provided  more — that,  for  this  favor, 
He  presently  become  a  Christian ; 
The  other,  that  he  do  record  a  gift, 
Here  in  the  court,  of  all  he  dies  possess'd, 
Unto  his  son  Lorenzo,  and  his  daughter. 

Duke. — He  shall  do  this ;  or  else  I  do  recant 
The  pardon  that  I  late  pronounced  here. 

Por. — Art  thou  contented.  Jew  ?     What  dost  thou  say  ? 

»S7/^. — I  am  content. — 
I  pray  you,  give  me  leave  to  go  from  hence ; 
I  am  not  well ;  send  the  deed  after  me, 
And  I  will  sign  it. 

Duke.— Get  thee  gone,  but  do  it. 

Gra. — In  christening  thou  shalt  have  two  godfathers  ; 
Had  I  been  judge,  thou  shouldst  have  had  ten  more, 
To  bring  thee  to  the  gallows,  not  the  font.       [^E.vit  Shylock.] 

Duke. — Sir.  I  entreat  you  home  with  me  to  dmner. 

[To  Portia.] 

Por. — I  humbly  desire  your  grace  of  pardon ; 
I  must  away  this  night  toward  Padua, 
And  it  is  meet  I  presently  set  forth. 

Duke. — I  am  sorry  that  your  leisure  serves  you  not. 
Antonio,  gratify  this  gentleman. 
For,  in  my  miiid,  you  are  much  bound  to  him. 

[  The  Court  breaks  up — all  go  out.'] 


SCENE  FROM  HENRY  VIII.— Shaks. 

[The  tone  of  Wolsey  should  be  that  of  a  proud  spirit, 
broken,  but  not  subdued ;  and  at  last  agonised  with  remorse. 
That  of  Cromwell  should  mark  the  humble^  but  faithful  and 
sympathising  friend.] 

Wo  LSEY — [alone.'] 

Farewell,  a  long  farewell  to  all  my  greatness  ! — 
This  is  the  state  of  man  ;  to-day  he  puts  forth 


DRAMATIC    PIECES.  365 

The  tender  leaves  of  hope,  to-morrow  blossoms, 
And  bears  his  blushmg  honors  thick  upon  him : 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost ; 
And — when  he  tliinks,  good  easy  man !  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  a-ripening — nips  his  root, 
And  then  he  falls  as  I  do.     I  have  ventured, 
Like  little  wanton  boys,  that  swim  on  bladders, 
These  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory; 
But  far  beyond  my  depth :  my  high-blown  pride 
At  length  broke  under  me ;  and  now  has  left  me, 
Weary,  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream  that  must  for  ever  hide  me. 
Vain  pomp,  and  glory  of  the  world,  I  hate  ye ! 
I  feel  my  heart  new  open'd :  O.  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man  that  hangs  on  prince's  favors  ! 
There  is,  betwixt  that  smile  we  would  aspire  to, 
That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  our  ruin. 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  war  or  women  have ; 
And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  hope  again ! — 

Enter  Cromwell. 

Wol. — Why,  how  now,  Cromwell? 

Crom. — I  have  no  power  to  speak,  sir. 

Wol. — What,  amazed 
At  my  misfortunes  ?     Can  thy  spirit  wonder, 
A  great  man  should  decline  ?     Nay,  an'  you  weep, 
I'm  fallen  indeed. 

Crom. — How  does  your  grace  ? 

Wo/.— Why,  well; 
Never  so  truly  happy,  my  good  Cromwell. 
I  know  myself  now  ;  and  I  feel  within  me 
A  peace  above  all  earthly  dignities, 
A  still  and  quiet  conscience. 

Crom. — I'm  glad  your  grace  has  made  that  right  use  of  it 

Wol. — I  hope  I  have  :  I'm  able  now,  methinks, 
Out  of  a  fortitude  of  soul  I  feel, 


566  PRACTICE    OF    ELOCUTION. 

To  endure  more  miseries  and  greater  far, 
Than  ray  weak-hearted  enemies  dare  offer. — 
What  news  abroad  ? 

Crom. — The  heaviest  and  worst 
Is  your  displeasure  with  tlie  king. 

Wol. — God  bless  him  ! 

Crom. — The  next  is  that  Sir  Thomas  More  is  chosen 
Lord  Chancellor  in  your  place. 

Wol. — That's  somewhat  sudden  : — 
But  he's  a  learned  man.     May  he  continue 
Long  in  his  highness's  favor,  and  do  justice 
For  truth's  sake  and  his  conscience,  that  his  bones, 
When  he  has  run  his  course,  and  sleeps  in  blessings, 
May  have  a  tomb  of  orphans'  tears  wept  on  them  ! — 
What  more  ? 

Crom. — That  Cranmer  is  return'd  with  welcome, 
Install'd  Lord  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 

Wol. — That's  news  indeed  ! 

Crom. — Last,  that  the  lady  Anne, 
Wliom  the  king  hath  in  secresy  long  married. 
This  day  was  viewed  in  open  as  his  queen, 
Going  to  chapel :  and  the  voice  is  now 
Only  about  her  coronation. 

Wol. — There  was  the  weight  that  puU'd  me  down !  O  Crom- 
well ! 
The  king  has  gone  beyond  me  ;  all  my  glories. 
In  that  one  woman,  I  have  lost  for  ever: 
No  sun  shall  ever  usher  forth  my  honors, 
Or  gild  again  the  noble  troops  that  waited 
On  my  smiles.     Go,  get  thee  from  me,  Cromwell ! 
I  am  a  poor  fall'n  man,  unworthy  now 
To  be  thy  lord  and  master :  seek  the  king : 
I  have  told  him 

What  and  how  true  thou  art ;  he  will  advance  thee : 
Some  little  memory  of  me  Avill  stir  him. 
(I  know  his  noble  nature)  not  to  let, 
Thy  hopeful  service  perish  too  : — go,  Cromwell ! 


DRAMATIC   PIECES.  367 

Crom. — O  my  lord, 
Must  I  then  leave  you  ?    Must  I  needs  forego 
So  good,  so  noble,  and  so  true  a  master  ? — 
Bear  witness,  all  that  have  not  hearts  of  iron, 
With  what  a  sorrow  Cromwell  leaves  liis  lord ! — 
The  king  shall  have  my  service,  but  my  prayers 
For  ever,  and  for  ever,  sliall  be  yours ! 

Wol. — Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 
In  all  my  miseries  ;  but  thou  hast  forced  me. 
Out  of  thy  honest  truth,  to  play  the  woman.— 
Let's  dry  our  eyes,  and  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell ; 
And,  when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be. 
And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 
Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of— say  I  taught  thee — 
Say,  Wolsey — that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory. 
And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honor — 
Found  thee  a  way  out  of  his  wreck  to  rise  in ; 
A  sure  and  safe  one,  tho'  thy  master  miss'd  it ! 
Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that,  that  ruin'd  me. 
Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition : 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels  ;  how  can  man  then, 
The  image  of  his  maker,  hope  to  win  by't? 
Love  thyself  last ;  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee ; 
Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace 
To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just  and  fear  not: 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  countr>''s, 
Thy  God's  and  truth's  :  then,  if  thou  fall'st, 

0  Cromwell,  thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr  !— 
Lead  me  in ; 

There  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have. 

To  the  hu-t  penny— 'tis  the  king's :  my  robe, 

And  my  integrity  to  Heaven,  is  all 

1  dare  now  call  mine  own. — O  Cromwell,  Cromwell! 
Had  I  but  served  my  God.  with  half  the  zeal 

I  served  my  king,  he  would  not,  in  mine  age, 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies ! 
Crom. — Good  sir,  have  patience. 


369  PRACTICE    OF   ELOCUTION. 

WoL — So  I  have. — Farewell 
The  hopes  of  Court !    My  hopes  in  heaven  do  dwell ! 

[  They  go  out  togetfier.'] 


CATO'S  SPEECH  OVER  HIS  DEAD  SON.— Addison. 
[With  a  heroic,  but  dignified  expression.] 

Thanks  to  the  Gods  !  my  boy  has  done  his  duty. — 
Welcome,  my  son  !     Here  set  him  down,  my  friends, 
Full  in  my  sight ;  that  I  may  view  at  leisure 
The  bloody  corse,  and  count  those  glorious  wounds. 
How  beautiful  is  death,  when  earn'd  by  virtue ! 
Who  would  not  be  that  youth  ? — what  pity  is  it 
That  we  can  die  but  once  to  serve  our  country  ! 
Why  sits  this  sadness  on  your  brow,  my  friends  ? 
I  should  havebiush'd  ifCato's  house  had  stood 
Secure,  and  flourish'd  iji  a  civil  war.- 
Porcius,  behold  thy  brother !  and  remember, 
Thy  life  is  not  thy  own,  when  Rome  demands  it ! 
When  Rome  demands  ! — but  Rome  is  now  no  more  ! 
The  Roman  Empire's  fall'n  ! — (Oh  !  curs'd  ambition !) — 
Fall'n  into  Csesar's  hands  !     Our  great  forefathers 
Had  left  him  nought  to  conquer  but  his  country. — 
*  Porcius,  come  hither  to  me  ! — Ah  !  my  son, 
Despairing  of  success, 
Let  me  advise  thee  to  withdraw,  betimes. 
To  our  paternal  seat,  the  Sabine  field, 
Where  the  great  Censor  toil'd  with  his  own  hands. 
And  all  our  frugal  ancestors  were  bless'd 
In  humble  virtues  and  a  rural  life. 
There  live  retired  :  content  thyself  to  be 
Obscurely  good. 

*  In  recitation,  the  pupil  may  omit  the  lines  between  the  as- 
terisks. 


DRAx^IATIC    PIECES.  3G9 

When  vice  prevails,  and  impious  men  bear  sway, 
The  post  of  honor  is  a  private  station  !  * 
Farewell,  my  friends  !     If  there  be  any  of  you 
Who  dare  not  trust  the  victor's  clemency, 
Know,  there  are  ships  prepar'd  by  my  command — 
Their  sails  already  op'ning  to  the  winds. — 
That  shall  convey  you  to  the  wish'd  for  port. 
The  conqueror  draws  near — once  more,  farewell ! 
If  e'er  we  meet  hereafter,  we  shall  meet 
In  happier  climes,  and  on  a  safer  shore, 
Where  Csesar  never  shall  approach  vis  more  ! 
There,  the  brave  youth  with  love  of  virtue  fired, 
Who  greatly  in  his  country's  cause  expired, 
Shall  know  he  conquer'd  !     The  firm  patriot  there, 
Who  made  the  welfare  of  mankind  his  care, 
Tho'  still  by  faction,  vice  and  fortune,  cross'd, 
Shall  find  the  generous  labor  was  not  lost. 


THE     END. 


INDEX. 


Introduction p.  9 

Articulation 29  to  50 

Tables  of  Articulation 54 

Accent — 

Correct  application  of  the  word  and  its  popular 

acceptation,  [see  Note) 75 

Its  connection  with  Pronunciation 5] 

Its  force 85 

Its  connection  with  Emphasis 86 

Accentuation — 

Rhythmical — in  verse  and  music 154^157 

Affirmative  Sentences — 

Rule  of  inflection  on 79 

Alternative  of  a  Question — 

Inflection 81 

ANT^rHESIS — 

Single  Antithesis,  and  Examples 100 

Double  Antithesis ib. 

Rules  for  inflection  on ib. 

Examples ib. 

Imphed  Antithesis 101 

Emphasis  of 102 

Apposition  of ib. 

Series  of 121 

Pause  in 122 

Compound  inflections  in 138 


372  INDEX. 

Apposition — 

Words  in p.  99 

Rule  of  inflection ib. 

Atonics 32 

What 33 

Table  of 41 

Exercise  on 42 

Conditional  Sentences 104 

Dramatic  Poetry — 

Remarks  on  the  reading  of 164 

Main  characteristics ib. 

Expression  in ib. 

What  requisite  to  the  actor ib. 

Passionate  expression  in ib. 

Dynamics,  or  Powers  of  Sound 181 

Terms,  Sign,  and  Explanation  of. ib. 

Their  force  and  use ib. 

Elementary  Sounds 30 

Distinction  between  signs  and  sounds 31 

Tonics — Subio7iics — Atonics 32  to  40 

Diphthongal  Sounds 35 

Table  of  Tonic  Elements 37 

Exercise  on  the  Tonic  Sounds 39 

Table  of  Sub-Tonic.-^  and  Atonies 41 

Exercise  on  the  Tonics 42 

Value  of  the  Elementary  Sounds 43 

Elocution — 

Elements  of 29 

Principles  of. 63 

An  imitative  art 62 

First  object  of ib. 

Poeiical  Elocution 149 

Rhythmical  Elocution 154 

Dramatic  Elocution 164 


INDEX.  873 

Emphasis p.  85  to  92 

Definition  of. 85 

Different  kinds  of 89 

Of  sense   - ib. 

Rule  for 90 

Antithetical 91 

Of  force ib. 

Double - 92 

Cumulative 92,  142 

Energy,  or  Force-^ 

the  Emphasis  of  Expression 177 

Energetic  manner  to  be  acquired ib. 

Effects,  and  manifestations  of  Energy 178 

In  narration 182 

Examples  for  Exercise 183 

Energy,    Intonation,    and    Expression    are  kindred 

graces ib. 

Their  climax  is  Passion ib. 

Exclamation — 

Inflections  on 105 

Expression 16S 

Depends  chiefly  on  pitch ib. 

The  vocal  imitation  of  passion ib. 

Of  Monotone 169 

Varied  expression  of  passion 171 

Example  in  Brutus'  speech 179,  182 

Explanation  of  Musical  Terms  and  Figures  used  to 

mark  pitch,  force,  and  tiine  for  expression 180 

Of  different  sentiments  and  affections 196  to  204 

Practice  in 196 

Gesture — 

Observations  on 207 

Table  of 211 

Remarks 210 


374 


INDEX. 


Gymnastics,  (see  Vocal  Gymnastics.) 

Inflection — 

Of  voice,  what .p.  75 

Simple  inflections,  what ib. 

How  marked ib. 

How  to  be  distinguished  by  the  ear 76 

Inflections  to  mark  the  sense 79 

General  rules  for ib. 

Affirmative  sense 80 

Negative ib. 

Imperative ib. 

Interrogative 81 

In  the  body  of  a  sentence 82 

And  suspension ib. 

Rules  for  both 83 

Special  miles  of  inflection 99 

Apposition ib. 

Antithesis 100 

Exclamation 105 

Conditional  sentences lO-t 

Inverted  sentences 103 

Parenthesis 105 

Pronouns 108 

Pronominal  phrase 109 

Serial  sentences 112 

Compound  injlectioms',  what 134 

How  marked,  and  their  use  and  force 134  to  139 

Melody  of  inflection  (in  poetry) 165 

Cadence  of. ib. 

Smoothness 166 

Alternation  of ib. 

Harmonic  cadence  by ib. 

Intonation I45 

Process  of jb. 

Exercise  in I47 


L\DEX.  375 

Intonation  of  poetry p.  14S 

Of  poetical  prose 149 

Orotund 151 

Practice  on  Intonation 185 

Interrogative  Sentences — 

Inflection  on 81 

Exceptions ib. 

Inverted  Sentences — 

Inflections  on  members  of. 103 

Lisping — 

What,  and  its  cure 44 

Melody — 

Of  rhythm  in  reading  poetry 154 

Of  inflection 165 

Cadence 166 

Harmonic  cadence ib. 

Monotone — 

Definition  of 169 

Its  expression ib. 

Exercise  in 170 

Music — 

Of  the  voice 75,  144 

Of  inflection 165 

Of  cadence 166 

Musical — 

Score  to  denote  inflections,  Rhji^hm,  &c 88,  135, 

136, 137,  158,  162 

Terms  and  marks  used 180,  181,  182 

DjTiamics,  &c ib. 

Cadence  of  inflection 166 

Negative  Sentences — 

Inflection  on 80 

Series 120 


376  INDEX. 

Orotund p.  151  to  153 

What 151 

Exercise  in 152 

Its  adaptation  to  Scriptural  reading,  &c 152 

Practice  on ib. 

Passion — 

Power  of  Elocution  to  express  passion 144 

Expression  of — in  dramatic  poetry 164 

General  expression  of — by  Pitch 171 

Expression  of  particular  passions 196  to  404 

Practice  {marked  and  noted  for  tone)  with  analysis 
of  expression  proper  to — 

Fear 197 

Anger 198 

Despair ib. 

Hope 199 

Revenge ib. 

Pity 200 

Jealousy 201 

Melancholy ib. 

Cheerfulness 202 

Joy ib. 

Love 203 

Mirth ib. 

Fierce  threatening 204 

Pacse — 

Rhetorical  pauses 63 

Use  of. ib. 

Number  and  value  of 64 

Rules  for 65 

Short  pause ib. 

Middle  pause 66 

Pest,  or  Full  pause 68 

Long  pause 70 

Exercise  in  pause  (marked) 71 


INDEX.  377 

Pause  of  Force p.  139 

Of  feeling ib. 

When  to  be  used 140 

Power  of,  and  Examples 141 

In  Poetry,  for  Rhythm 155,  157,  162 

Pitch 171  to  179 

The  main  constituent  of  Expression 171 

Middle  pitch 173 

Low  pitch 176 

High  pitch 174 

(See  "  Orotund.") 

Pronouns 105 

Have  no  pr^oper  inflection 109 

How  governed  in  inflection ib. 

Pronominal  Phrase — 

What 108 

Rules  and  Examples 109 

In  reply Ill 

Emphasis  with ib. 

Pronominal  Series 122 

Rules  for  inflection  of ib. 

Poetry — Poetical  Elocution — 

Intonation  of 148 

Imaginative  stj'le 149 

Poetical  Prose ib. 

Examples  from  Ossian  and  Burke ib. 

Reading  Verse 153 

Rhythm,  «S:c 154 

Rhythmical  accentuation ib. 

Measure  of  Verse 155  to  162 

Rhythmical  Reading 162 

Melody  and  Cadence 165 

Harmonic  Cadence 166 

General  Instructions  for  the  inflection  of  verse ib. 

Marked  extract  (Pope) 167 


378  IXDEX. 

Dramatic  poetry p.  164 

Remarks  on  reading ib. 

Practice  in  rhythmical  reading 188 

Poetical  Extracts — 

Portia's  Speech  on  Mercy (Sliaks.) 93 

Sabbath  Morn (Grahame) 163 

Happiness (Scott) 167 

From  the  Tragedy  of  Ion (Taltburd) 170 

Breatlies  there  a  man (Scott) 174 

Description  of  Prince  Henry. . (Shaks.) 183 

Hotspur's  eagerness  for  battle. (Id.) 184 

Prospero's  Invocation (I'l-) 185 

Death  of  Samson (Milton) 186 

Boadicea (Cowper) 189 

The  Eagle (Percival) 191 

Spring (Willis) 194 

The  Clime  of  the  East (Byron) 195 

The  Passions (CoUins) 197 

Henry  V.  before  Harfleur (Shaks.) 204 

Dying  Gladiator (BjTon) 205 

Practice  ox — 

Articulation 54 

Pronunciation 60 

Pause 71 

Pause,  Inflection,  and  Emphasis, — Part  1 94 

Part  II 124 

Intonation 185 

Poetical  Elocution — 

Rhythmical  Reading 188 

Energy  and  Expression 197 

Pronunciation 51 

Practice  on 60 

Parenthesi.s — 

Parenthetical  members 105 

Distinction  between 106 


INDEX.  379 

How  read p.  107 

Rules  for  inflection  of. ib. 

Prose  Extracts — 

Sense,  Taste,  and  Genius ■ (Usher) 71 

"  Press  on  P' (Anon) 94 

Storm  at  Sea (W.  Irving.)  95 

Dante  and  Milton (Macauley).  96 

The  Material  and  Spiritual  in  Poetry.  ..(Id.) 126 

Emancipation  of  Spanish  America (H.  Clay).  .124 

Evidence  and  Precedents  in  Law (Erskine)..  .129 

Sketch  of  Lord  Chatham's  Administration.( Burke). .139 

Warren  Hastings (Id.)-  •  -  -150 

Extract  from  Ossian 149 

Brutus'  speech  to  the  populace  (marked  for  intona- 
tion and  expression) 148,  179,  182 

dUANTITY — 

How  governed  in  the  English  language 86 

Distinction  between  our  language  and  the  Greek  and 

Latin ib. 

The  same,  with  reference  to  rhj'thm 155  to  163 

Rhetorical  Padses 63  to  74 

Rhythm,  {see  Poetry.) 

Series — Serial  Sentences — 

^Vliat 112 

Form  of. ib. 

Simple  and  compound ib. 

Commencing  and  concluding ib. 

Rules  of  inflection  on : 114 

Simple  Series ib. 

Compound 115 

Division  of  Series 116 

Irregular  Series 118 

Exercise  on 119 

Negative 120 

Interrogative ib. 


380  INDEX. 

Antithetical p.  121 

Pronominal 122 

Exercise  in  intonation  of. 147 

Stabimering — 

What,  and  its  cure 44 

Sub-tonics 32 

What 33 

Table  of 41 

Exercise  on 42 

Tonics 32  to  51 

List  of  pure  tonics 34 

Table  of  pure  and  mixed  tonics 37 

Exercise  on  the  tonics 39 

Practice  on  articulation  of 54 

Time 178 

Voice — 

Human  voice  a  musical  instrument 75 

Inflection  of ib. 

Education  of 145 

Intonation ib. 

Economy  of ib. 

Weak  voices ib. 

How  improved ib. 

Practice  of 143 

Pitch 171 

((See  Intonation,  Expression,  Pitch.) 

Vocal  Gymnastics— j 

Practice  recommended  to  strengthen  the  lungs  and 
improve  the  voice 208 

Vowel  Sounds 31  to  51 

Practice  in  articulation  of. 54 


INDEX.  S8l 


INDEX  TO  THE  APPENDIX 


EXERCISES  IN  PROSE-READING. 

•  Delicacy  of  Taste (Hume) p.  215 

■  The  Coliseum (Fors\-th) 216 

Death  and  Character  of  dueen  Elizabeth.. (Hume) 219 

•Character  of  Mary,  Q,ueen  of  Scots (Robertson).  ..224 

'Marie  Antoinette (Burke) 226 

Conquest  of  Jerusalem  by  the  Crusaders..  .(Gibbon) 227 

•  Story  of  La  Roche (Mackenzie).  ..231 

'  Modern  Gallantrj^ (C.  Lamb). . .  .248 

'  Character  of  Chatham (Grattan) 250 

•  Napoleon (Phillips) 252 


PROSE-DECLAMATION. 

•  Against  the  Charge  of  British  Predilection.(Randolph) . . .  257 

•  The  Advantages  of  Classical  Learning.  .  .  .(Story) 259 

'Emmet's  Speech  before  Sentence  of  Death 263 

'In  favor  of  the  Greek  Revolution (Clay) 267 

.Pitt's  Reply  to  Walpole 26S 

•Eulog}-  on  Washington (Webster) .  . .  .270 

'Against  Paine's  -  Age  of  Reason." (Erskine) 273 


POETICAL  READING  AND  RECITATIONS. 
'Progress  of  Poetry — an  ode (Gray) 277 


S82  INDEX. 

-Thanatopsis (Bryant) p.  281 

•  Charms  of  Hope (Campbell) 283 

■^  America  to  England (W.  Alston).  ..286 

•  Lochinvar (Scott) 288 

vSt.  Peter's  at  Rome,  &c (Byron) 289 

>  The  Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul (Pope) 292 

♦Saul (Byron) lb. 

"After  the  Battle (Moore) 293 

'Eliza (Darwin) 294 

•Night (Montgomery).  296 

•Modern  Greece (Byron) 298 

•  The  Leper (Willis) 300 

•  Female  Picture  of  a  Country  Life (J.  Baillie) . . .  .302 

.The  Graves  of  a  Household (Hemans) 303 

Bernardo  del  Carpio (Id.) 304 

►The  Glove  and  the  Lions (L.  Hunt) 307 

•Patience  and  Hope (Bulvver) 308 

•  Abou  Ben  Adhem (L.  Hunt) ib. 

•  Coxcombry  in  Conversation (Cowper) 309 

•Yesterday (Tupper)         .310 

'  A  Poet's  Parting  Thought (Motherwell) . .  315 

DIALOGUE  AND  DRAMATIC  PIECES. 

•Lochiel's  Warning (Campbell) 317 

-  Antony's  Apostrophe  to  Csesar's  body (Shaks.) 321 

'  Cato's  Soliloquy (Addison) 320 

. Scene  from  Julius  Caesar (Shaks.) 322 

^Shylock  to  Antonio (Id.) 326 

•Henry  IVth's  Apostrophe  to  Sleep (Id.) 327 

'Scene  from  the  Tragedy  of  Ion (Talfourd) 328 

•Quarrel  Scene  from  Julius  Caesar (Shaks.) 332 

•Bobadil's  Military  Tactics (Ben  Jonson)..336 

-Antony's  Speech  in  the  Forum (Shaks.) 337 

rScene  from  Venice  Preserved (Otway) 340 

. Rolla's  Speech  to  the  Peruvians  (Sheridan). . .  .344 


isv£x.  383 

.  Scene  from  the  Comedy  of  Money (Bulwer) p.  345 

,  Scene  from  the  Poor  Gentleman (Coleman) . . .  .348 

.Hamlet's  Soliloquy (Shaks.) 352 

■Night  Soliloquy  in  Venice (Byron) 353 

The  Seven  Ages (Shaks.) ib. 

Trial  Scene  from  the  Merchant  of  Venice.. (Id.) 355 

•Scene  from  Henry  VIII.:  Wolsey.  Cromwell.(Id.) 364 

Cato's  Speech  over  his  dead  Son (Id.) 368 


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